Magnis Veritatem: Forced Truth
by KneazleGriff
Summary: Harry's been beaten by his uncle, tortured by Voldemort and consumed by anger and guilt over the death of his Godfather. But when a mysterious stranger from the future finds a way to bring about change by forcing the truth, is there hope for the future? - NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Magnis Veritatem: Forced Truth**

**Chapter One  
**

Harry awoke to the sound of a repetitive tapping on his bedroom window at Privet Drive. It was not an altogether unwelcome noise, as he knew it was his beloved Hedwig returning from a night of hunting. Harry had let her out just last night, much to the vast displeasure of his Uncle Vernon...

- flashback -

"_I warned you, boy! That bloody owl is to stay in its cage. I will not have that ruddy bird bringing you messages from those delinquents you go to school with. I told you those freaks are NOT to interfere with our lives this summer! I will not have it, boy, I WILL NOT HAVE IT!" Uncle Vernon bellowed, purple-faced and dangerously close. _

_He continued his tirade, grabbing Harry by the front of his t-shirt and pushing him against his bedroom wall next to the open window from which Hedwig had just departed. _

"_And If you think those damn Order freaks, or whatever they call themselves, from Kings Cross have any say in what I allow in my own house, you are mistaken, boy. I will not allow owls carrying eff-ing messages or freak boys who think they can get away with anything!" _

_His uncle's eyes were huge, bulging, with an evil, manic gleam to them. His grip on Harry's shirt tightened painfully and Harry could see him visibly shaking. A line had been crossed, Harry knew it. _

_It had happened before, of course, but not since before he had turned eleven. The threat of wizard retaliation had sufficiently kept Vernon Dursley's tendencies toward severe physical abuse at bay for the last four years. Sure, he'd been shoved, shaken, slapped and had various items thrown at him during that time. But Harry had avoided his uncle's more brutal beatings ever since getting his acceptance letter from Hogwarts. Now he was facing the very real possibility that his uncle's patience had run out and that the end-of-term threat given by certain members of the Order of the Phoenix on the platform at Kings Cross Station would do nothing to deter his uncle's abuse this time. _

_The first blow sounded like the crack of a whip as Vernon's fist connected with Harry's jaw, forcing his head to snap to the right and collide with the corner of the window frame. As a gash just above his temple gushed blood down his cheek,Harry's vision tunneled, darkening around the edges. Harry's consciousness faded, but the assault continued..._

- end flashback -

As the memory of last night's nightmare came into sharper focus, Harry gingerly rolled onto his side and pushed himself up to a sitting position on his bed. He grabbed his glasses off his bedside table and cautiously placed them on, trying to avoid the wound above his temple that was now crusted over with dried blood. He glanced up at the window sill and saw the warm amber eyes of his snowy owl gazing dolefully at him through the glass pane. As he approached her, he drew a sharp intake of breath in reaction to the agonizing pain in his ribs. His entire left side throbbed perilously with every breath he took. At least one broken rib then. Great. And his jaw pulsed with intense, stabbing pain. Maybe a broken jaw too? No, he decided. He could open and close his mouth well enough, although it was extremely tender. Probably just badly bruised.

It had been his childhood, post-beating habit to catalog and assess his injuries. He was never naive enough to hope for medical attention from his aunt and uncle for his afflictions, but he could at least self-medicate by applying cold compresses to any bruises and wrapping the nastier cuts with gauze from the medicine cabinet. Broken ribs though? He wasn't sure how he would handle that particular situation.

He reached the window and unlatched it. Hedwig soared into the room circling once as if to scan for danger. She came to rest gently on Harry's shoulder, dipping her head down to nuzzle affectionately against his cheek.

"It's okay, girl. I'll be alright. Listen, I need you to go to the Burrow for the rest of summer. Okay? Ron will take care of you. I'm sorry, but I can't risk Uncle Vernon seeing you here again. Don't worry. It will be okay."

He stroked her soft feathered plumage tenderly as he spoke his reassurances. After a quiet hoot of acquiescence, she took off through the still open window and out into the crisp, cool morning air.

After watching Hedwig disappear from view, Harry closed and latched the window, then slowly shuffled back to his bed. He cautiously sat down on the mattress edge and winced as shooting pains from his injured ribs made him gasp. With each new breath, Harry felt more and more light-headed and nauseous. Slowly, he laid down on the threadbare blanket atop his bed and tried to arrange himself into a comfortable position. He would attempt to sleep some more. No sense in trying to sneak into the bathroom now. He knew his Uncle Vernon would be up and about as it was a Saturday morning. Better to wait it out in his room and attempt to raid the medicine cabinet later tonight, once the Dursleys were asleep. It would not be worth it to have another run-in with his violent uncle.

It doesn't matter anyway, Harry thought. The physical pain was bad, yes, but he'd gone through worse. Certainly this was infinitely more bearable than Voldemort's cruciatus curse. And definitely less excruciating than being possessed by said wizard. That had been agonizing - physically and emotionally. He had wanted to die, wanted the pain to end at all costs. He remembered that burning ache in his chest as he thought that in death, perhaps he could see Sirius again.

Sirius.

It had only been two weeks since term ended, three weeks since that fateful night at the Ministry, and Harry was still feeling devastated over losing his Godfather. Sirius had been the only real parent figure he had ever remembered having in his life. He had only been a part of his life for two years, but Harry had come to rely on him as he would a father. Losing him was far more agony than any physical pain Voldemort or Uncle Vernon could inflict upon him. And the worst part of it was that Harry knew that Sirius' death was his fault.

It was because of Harry's insistent and rash resolve to rescue Sirius from non-existant danger that directly led to his murder. Why did he believe that foul elf, Kreacher? Why didn't he do more to try and get help? He could have gone to Flitwick or Sprout, anyone, instead of... Snape. That bastard. Dumblebore swore that Snape had done everything in his power that night to get help. He alerted the Order right away, Dumbledore had said. Somehow Harry doubted that. Dumbledore trusts Snape, he had told him this several times. Well, Harry did not. Snape must have taken his sweet time to tell the Order about Harry's vision so that he could ensure that his REAL master had time to get exactly what he wanted from Harry... the prophecy. Snape was probably pleased that Sirius was dead. He had always hated him. And he had mercilessly taunted him back at Grimmauld Place. Snape wanted his Godfather to leave that house and put himself in danger. This was Snape's fault too. And Harry would never forgive him for his part in it.

Harry closed his eyes, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. He would not cry. No. He would just lay here and wait out the day. He would ignore this pain. Refuse this grief. Swallow this heartache.

Just as Harry felt sleep start to take hold of him, he heard a strange buzzing sound. His eyes snapped open in time to see a blinding flash of pure white light surrounding him and felt an uncomfortable sensation that was eerily similar to portkey travel. Following the strange surge of motion and dizzying confusion, he found himself sprawled out on the floor, alone, and in a room that was most definitely not the smallest bedroom at number four, Privet Drive.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Instinct took precedence over pain and curiosity as Harry sprang to his feet and withdrew his wand from out of his back pocket in one rapid motion. He whipped around, breathing fast, heart rate quickening, as he desperately searched his surroundings for an explanation, some clue, as to how he had been taken from the safety of the blood wards.

He found himself to be in the middle of what appeared to be a large dimly-lit sitting room adorned with two plush settees and three dark leather clad chairs. The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves overflowing with ancient tomes. A fire blazed within a massive stone hearth in the far corner of the room, and in the reflective luster of the dancing flames, Harry noticed a small coffee table in the heart of the room. On top of it lay a leaf of parchment with what looked like names written in small, untidy script across the top. Harry cautiously edged closer to the table for a better look...

_Saturday, July 13th, 1996_

_To Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Ginevra Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, Hermione Granger and Severus Snape,_

"Oh God. This... this is not good. Shit! Does this mean they're being brought here as well?" Harry inquired aloud, hoping the room itself may be able to confirm his rising panic.

Of course, upon first appearing in this room, he had anxiously imagined Death Eaters, at the very least, or some kind of sinister trap to get him back into Voldemort's clutches. The names on this list, however, certainly were not worthy of apprehension under normal circumstances. But if his friends were to see him in this condition... No. He couldn't let them see him like this. His friends would pity him, would be filled with the typical Gryffindor righteous indignation on his behalf. And Dumbledore would surely think him weak. Harry wouldn't be able to stomach seeing the aged wizard looking down on him with regret and ill-placed sympathy. He'd had enough of Dumbledore's commiserative looks laced with remorse when he was explaining the finer points of the prophesy to him at the end of last term. He didn't want to go through anything like that again. And Snape. God, Snape would most likely use this against him. Harry was certain he would be awarded with one of Snape's infamous sneering jibes. Snape would taunt him and claim that he was trying to draw attention to himself. No. No way. He had to figure out a plan to hide his injuries and very quickly.

As if the room had been privy to his uneasiness, a book from the shelf nearest him flew off and levitated toward him. Wide-eyed and uncertain, Harry caught the offering in his left hand, while still vigilantly brandishing his wand in his right. The book was titled, "Quick and Easy Concealment Charms for the Secretive."

"Well, I suppose this will work if I can find the right spell..." Again his dilemma was solved for him. The book magically opened to page 256...

**Easy Glamour Spell:**

_Most commonly used for the concealment of physical injuries (i.e. bruises, scars, cuts, abrasions)_

_Latin incantation (vrbl.) - Abscondere_

_Wand movement - Clockwise circular motion over the area one wishes to conceal. May need to repeat wand movement up to three times for severe injuries and older scars._

Harry hesitated. He had no idea if performing this spell would get him into trouble with the Ministry for breaching the Reasonable Restriction for Underage Sorcery as his Patronus Charm had done only last summer. He had no way of knowing if he was someplace where his magic could be monitored or detected. But he had to risk it, didn't he? There was no way he could allow this secret to be discovered. What happened at the Dursleys was his business and his alone. It had nothing to do with his friends or his position in this war. It was in no way relevant to the prophesy. So nobody needed to know. Sure, Ron and Hermione knew that he was not exactly treated well when he was with his relatives, and the twins certainly got a glimpse into his plight back in the summer before second year when they and Ron broke him out of the prison he was subjected to. But nobody knew that he used to be physically abused by his uncle... or rather...is STILL being physically abused. Yes, Harry determined, he had to preform this spell. He needed to keep this secret.

Harry placed the book down on the nearest settee, pointed his wand toward his face and took a deep, calming breath. Attempting unknown spells for the first time was nerve-wracking enough without using one's own body as a test subject.

_"Abscondere!"_ Harry recited, closing his eyes tightly as he spoke the incantation. He obediently gesticulated his wand in the required circular motion. Once, twice, then a third time. Since Harry didn't have any means to check his appearance, he thought it prudent to do the wand movement all three times. That ought to do it, he mused.

Next, Harry lifted his t-shirt to assess the area around his broken ribs. He knew it was doubtful anyone would be looking at him without his shirt on, but, just to be safe, he'd conceal those bruises as well. What he saw nearly made his nausea return in full. This was definitely the worst bruises he had ever had. His flesh looked as though it had been painted by some masochistic artist - blue, green yellow, and deep purple blotches marked his skin on his whole left side.

_"Abscondere!"_ Harry commanded once again. His voice held much more anxiety this time; the fear of being found out by the room's remaining guests scheduled to arrive shortly was beginning to take its toll and Harry. Three clockwise wand movements later and the bruises had vanished from view.

No sooner had Harry pulled his shirt back back down when the now familiar buzzing sound returned. He again pointed his wand toward the source of the disturbance and immediately had to squint his eyes against the blinding white glow. After the light receded, Harry saw the first satisfying scene he'd witnessed since arriving at the Dursleys two weeks ago. There, beside the hearth, looking utterly bewildered, stood Ron and Ginny, clutching each other in an attempt to stay upright in the aftermath of the the frenzied transport.

"Ron! Ginny! Are you two okay?" Harry ran to his friends and pulled them in for a group hug.

"Harry, mate, what are you doing here? Wait...where the bloody hell IS here?" Ron broke from the embrace and surveyed the room looking deeply puzzled. He approached the letter on the coffee table and took a minute to read the scripted header at the top. "This letter is for us...and Hermione, Dumbledore and...Snape? What the...?"

For the third time in the last ten minutes, Harry once again heard the buzzing and saw the blaze of white light that signified the arrival of yet another guest. Albus Dumbledore materialized on Ginny's right side, standing fully upright and dignified as if he had just been giving a historic speech. His eyes however, normally aglow with a sparkle of knowing, gave him away. Concern and unease etched his features and worry emanated from his those powerful blue eyes.

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley. Well, this is quite a pleasant surprise, but I dare say, of unusual circumstances." As the headmaster, like Ron had before him, inspected their environment, he too noticed the letter still atop the table.

"And, if I am not mistaken, we shall be expecting two more. Ah, and yes, Miss Granger seems to have joined us."

Following the retinal burn of yet another blinding pulse of light, Harry saw a very confused and nervous Hermione Granger crouched low on the floor and clutching her wand in a death grip. "Harry? Ron, Ginny...Headmaster? What...what's going on?" Hermione's panic-laced queries were interrupted by the last arrival to the room.

Severus Snape, garbed in his usual black robes and looking as menacing as ever, stood tall before them. His obsidian gaze fell upon Harry immediately and that all too familiar sneer of disgust quickly replaced the look of apprehension that had been there moments before. Harry returned his look of loathing with one of his own before the Potion's Master could find voice.

"Potter, what impetuous scheme have you implemented this time in order to blatantly disregard all common sense and caution? Because I know very well that you are to blame for this little impromptu assembly, you insolent little brat!"

**Please read and review!**

**This is the first Fan Fiction I have written, and I would really like to hear what you have say - good or bad.**

**I plan on updating this story every few days or so, if I can. So, stay tuned if you are enjoying it. There's lots more to come!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Severus, my dear boy, I see that your knack for making a formidable entrance remains as efficacious as ever. However, I do take issue with your somewhat impulsive conclusions on how it is we came to be here. I do believe that Harry is just as perplexed as the rest of us upon finding ourselves in this room. Am I correct, Harry?" Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes were fixed on Harry's green ones in a penetrating mien, as if searching for truth.

"No…I mean, yes, Professor! I… I have no idea how it happened! One moment, I was in my bedroom at the Dursley's, and the next thing I knew, there was this odd noise and a bright light, and…. and then….I was here." Harry finished rather lamely, his thoughts guiltily drifting back to the glamour charm he had cast only moments ago - a spell found in a book that was offered to him by the very room they were discussing. Harry swallowed hard and held the headmaster's gaze, hoping his expression did not betray his growing anxiety.

"With all do respect, Headmaster, it is obvious that Potter is…. ah, shall we say… _hiding something_." Snape drawled. His eyes never once left Harry's eyes the entire time he had been recounting his tale. But now Snape's gaze slowly drifted up to Harry's forehead, his dark cynical eyes narrowing in suspicion. When his focus once again returned to Harry's eyes, Harry could plainly see a triumphant expression adorning Snape's normally disdainful features. The corners of his mouth turning up slightly in a wicked, shrewd smirk.

"Tell me, Potter," Snape sneered maliciously, "why would it be that someone as… _innocent_…. as you claim to be in this case, would find it necessary to use a concealment charm on oneself, hmm?"

"What? I didn't…. but I haven't… What are you talking about?" Harry stammered, desperate to appear shocked by Snape's accusation. His gaze drifted imploringly around the room, hoping not to see doubt in his friends' expressions. Seeking assurance and support. It was Hermione who spoke first.

"Professor, uh, I don't even think Harry knows any concealment charms. I mean, they're NEWT-level charms taught in sixth year, aren't they?" Hermione tentatively offered. But as she spoke, her eyes nervously darted from Snape to Harry and back again, as if trying to investigate Snape's claim.

"Miss Granger, as… _admirable_… as your intentions clearly are to validate the innocence of all your immoral, rule-breaking little friends, I must insist that in this case, I might just know a bit more than the token Gryffindor know-it-all." his cutting retort was all the motivation Ginny and Ron needed to initiate a full-fledge verbal retaliation against Snape.

"Hermione only asked a question. Leave her alone, you git!"

"You bastard! You heard Harry, he didn't do anything. This is not his fault!"

"Potter has been breaking rules and taking risks since his very first day at this school and I will not stand for anymore lies..."

"SILENCE!"

The issued command effectively eliminated all noise as it echoed powerfully throughout the room. Instantly, the bickering ceased and all eyes were fixed on the weary face of Albus Dumbledore. He took a long, steadying breath before turning his attention on the Potion Master and calmly inquiring, "Severus, what makes you so certain that Harry is currently using a concealment charm?"

Snape turned away from the headmaster and again glanced at Harry's forehead. "You see, Headmaster," he clarified "I find no other explanation for the peculiar absence of a certain...famous scar... that usually resides itself on Mr. Potter's forehead."

Four sets of eyes joined Snape's in surveying Harry's appearance, as Harry gasped at his obvious oversight.

Shit! Fuck! How could he be so stupid? Of course the glamour charm would hide his scar too. Harry berated himself as the realization that he had been caught took hold. He shut his eyes tight and lowered his head as he tried to calm his racing heart. He hated this...this feeling of being out of control... and the absolute terror of knowing that his most guarded secret was about to be made public. The Boy-Who-Lived...so weak that he could not even fight off his muggle relatives.

Harry, lost in his stifling panic, scarcely noticed being approached. But his anxiety slowly ebbed as a petite hand cautiously reached out to his. He opened his eyes and let his gaze wander over the vision of soft, delicate fingers caressing his left palm. Only then did he notice that his hand was smeared in blood. Indecent blemishes that served as a painful reminder of his uncle's abuse.

He let his eyes travel the distance up to Ginny's warm, kind face, and he was surprised that her features held none of the pity he expected to see. Her eyes expressed nothing but compassion and concern, and her sincere gaze radiated acceptance. Harry felt as if his heart was overflowing with phoenix song as he grasped Ginny's proffered hand and entwined his fingers with hers. He could get through this.

The room's inhabitants were momentarily distracted from the scene, as a shocking burst of blue light flickered from somewhere. And with the disruption, all thoughts of Harry's missing scar were temporarily forgotten. Suddenly, six wands were at the ready, as the source of the light was investigated.

"It's the letter!" Ron shouted, "Look! There's more writing on it now. There were only our names and today's date on it before."

As the blue haze dissipated, Dumbledore neared the table. He studied the parchment with a calculating look. He chanted an incantation under his breath and flourished his wand in an intricate pattern. Harry had no idea what he had done, but he seemed satisfied with the results. It was only then, when Dumbledore picked up the parchment, that Harry noticed the headmaster's hand. It was dark, almost black in appearance. It was dead-looking, Harry thought, and it must've been painful. Harry wondered what could have caused such a grave injury.

His musings were cut short, however, as the headmaster cleared his throat and began to read...

_Saturday, July 13th, 1996_

_To Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Ginevra Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, Hermione Granger and Severus Snape,_

_I have assembled you all here, in the Room of Requirement, to offer you the chance I never had... the chance to make decisions regarding your own future, and the future of those you care about, based on the truth. Each of you carries your own closely-guarded secrets, deceptions that, if you continue to keep them quiet, will ultimately cause pain, misunderstanding and, in some cases, the demise of those who could have been saved._

_I come from a time of peace, a time after Voldemort, a time when the Wizarding World has been restoring its community and healing its wounds. But there was great loss from the war and even greater regret._

_Each one of you has a key role, either in this war, or in the hearts of those who fight it. My purpose in sequestering you here, is to bring about the opportunity, not only to end this war sooner, but to enable the six of you to work together to save lives, some of whom are in this very room. And my only condition is that you reveal your secrets, end your deception, bare your souls. Only the truth can bring about a better future... for my world... and yours._

_I have spent many years, countless sleepless nights and endless research in my quest to accomplish this magic. Time alteration is fragile... the slightest tampering in the timeline can bring about devastation. However, the magic that brought you here also provides protection for our timeline. It acts as a safeguard against the possibility of additional loss and death. Only if you accomplish true understanding with one another and dispel your secrets will the future be adjusted... your future... my past. Your efforts can and will reflect in my time, but only if your work in this room produces positive results. In other words, the risk has been eliminated. And I am confident the burden to bring about a better future, will be safe in your capable hands._

_It will not be easy... this I know. You must deny your fear and banish your regret. The truth must be completely divulged, if you have any hope at all to bring about a favorable change._

_I will not abandon you in your efforts. I am giving you a spell to aid in this endeavor. It is magic of my own invention. The incantation is Magnis Veritatem, and it will essentially force a person to tell the truth by creating a temporary compulsion to reveal one's own secrets. I am hoping this spell will not be needed... however, I recognize that letting go of a lifetime of deception is not necessarily a simple assignment._

_During your time here, I may give you clues to help you. But, I will only make my presence known and interfere if absolutely required._

_You have seven days to accomplish your task. The seven days will pass by as only a mere moment outside this room, so your current lives will not be altered. Your family and friends will not be aware that you have gone._

_The room is tuned in to Harry's magical signature. It will provide you all with anything you should need. Harry need only ask._

_Good Luck to you all._

"Well, this was rather... unexpected." Dumbledore pondered as he laid the parchment back down on the table.

Ron, Hermione and Ginny all studied him, perhaps expecting words of palliation, to temper the shock of what they had just heard. But none came.

Harry ventured a glance at Snape. He was staring right back at him intently. There was a determination in his face that bordered on obsession, as he rapidly traversed the room toward him, wand out. He halted his movement when he was less than two feet from Harry and pointed his wand directly at his still glamoured face.

With a satisfied sneer playing on his lips, the Potion Master roared the incantation, "Magnis Vertitatem!"

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	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Harry's eyes widened with horror and he struggled to catch his breath as the full force of the spell struck him. His legs suddenly seemed frail, like they could no longer support him, and he sank to his knees, panting rapidly. His heart pounded in his chest as if desperate to get out.

"Oh God…No, please…No." Harry implored earnestly, "Please, don't make me….tell you." His last words came out as a faint whisper, a desperate, anguished plea.

"Stop it! Leave him alone! Can't you see he's in pain, you son-of-a-bitch!" Ginny cried out.

Ginny was still beseeching Snape to end his abusive treatment, when Ron joined in, "He doesn't owe you any explanation. You're nothing but a vile bully!"

"ENOUGH!" Snape bellowed, "If either one of you impetuous imps had bothered to pay attention to our benefactor's directive, you would have picked up on his fervent ambition to EXPOSE THE TRUTH. I feel it only fair that we begin with Potter, here, since it has already been established that he is being… _deliberately deceptive_."

"So, Potter…. Drop. Your. Glamour…..NOW!"

Harry wanted to refuse, tried to resist, but he was overwhelmed by an exhaustive need to obey, to reveal, to purge. He detested this intense requisite, and he yearned to deny it. But the compulsion was too powerful and Harry reluctantly raised his wand, turning it on himself, and softly muttered the incantation to counteract the glamour.

_"Finite Incantatem"_

Horrified gasps echoed throughout the room as all eyes stared at Harry's bruised and bloodied face. Harry closed his eyes firmly to shut out the heartbreaking image of his friends' appalled expressions.

"Oh, Harry…." sobbed Hermione, "Wh… Why?…Why didn't you tell us?"

Harry did not answer her and did not look up. He kept his eyes shut. His head lowered. Shame and embarrassment nearly choking him, as he continued to fight the nearly overwhelming urge to speak and reveal more of his pain.

He was torn from his inner-struggle by the gentle touch of cool fingers grazing his chin, gradually applying pressure, coaxing him to look up. He submitted to the request without thought and cautiously opened his eyes, now brimming with unshed tears. Snape had crouched down in front of him and was staring intensely at him, his hand still grasping Harry's chin. His gaze appeared troubled and tense as he scanned the laceration above his temple and the deep, painful bruising that extended from his jaw to his cheekbone.

"Potter, Look at me…. Who did this to you?" Snape asked, and Harry was surprised that his voice bore no trace of its usual contempt.

"No…. please… I don't want to…." Harry begged, desperate to reject this compulsion to tell the truth.

"WHO DID THIS TO YOU!" Snape thundered.

Harry clamped his mouth shut securely, trembling with the effort to keep silent, causing his teeth to grind together and his jaw to throb and ache. But nothing he did seemed to ease this need to let go…

"MY UNCLE!…..my uncle….it's…it's always my uncle. He….he doesn't like it when I let Hedwig out….He hates when I get letters from f-f-freaks…like….m-m-me"

Harry was vaguely aware of the tears pouring from his burning eyes and streaming down his bruised cheeks as he spoke. But it was like a dam had broken inside of him, and there was nothing he could do to stop himself now.

"They hate me… ignore me…. starve me. I… I lived in a cupboard until I was eleven. Always in the cupboard. Christmas… my birthday… always…always in the cupboard… locked up… hidden away. It was dark, so dark. But I'm a freak, and that's where freaks belong. And my uncle… he beats me. He says… it's to beat the magic out of me. I deserve it. I do, I deserve it. He tells me…that I should be grateful…. I…I… don't…. deserve… to be loved."

There was a deafening, sickening silence permeating the room the moment he finished. All eyes were trained on Harry. He felt so exposed, so naked. And the ache in his heart was nearly suffocating him. He wrapped his arms around himself defensively, seeking comfort. He was rocking back and forth on his knees in an attempt to calm himself, still gasping and quivering in obvious distress. He remembered doing this as a little boy when he was locked in the desolate darkness of his cupboard, alone and frightened.

"Potter…. Did your uncle… Are you injured anywhere else?" Snape whispered softly, as if it the question were for Harry's ears only.

"My ribs. I think…they might be broken."

"I need to see," Snape commanded. And Harry felt the same cool, careful hands gently close around his wrists and slowly, his arms were unwrapped from their protective embrace. Again Harry complied, allowing the touch. Snape lifted Harry's t-shirt, revealing the bruised and battered flesh beneath.

Harry heard Snape's sharp intake of breath and noticed him purse his lips together tightly, as he turned his head from the sight. As he allowed Harrys' t-shirt to fall back down, he took a slow steadying breath and, after a moment Snape, found his voice once more.

"Potter, I need you to ask the room to provide us with the proper potions. I must heal you. You needn't vocalize the request. I believe if you simply think of what is needed, this room should comply."

Harry closed his eyes once again and concentrated on potions and the need to heal. There was a vibrating hum that reached his ears and the room itself seemed to shudder with additional magic. When Harry opened his eyes again, he noticed a door to a room that surely had not been there before.

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Albus Dumbledore spoke, "Mr. Weasley, would be so kind as to assist Professor Snape in getting Mr. Potter into the... ah, new room."

In an instant, Ron was at Harry's side. He threw Harry's shaky arm around his shoulders and bore his weight as, together, they crossed the sitting room and entered the make-shift infirmary. Harry was just beginning to breath normally again as he and Ron entered the addition. There was a bed in the far corner of the room, similar to those in the hospital wing, with white linen sheets, and a thick wool bedspread. Opposite the bed, stood a tall cabinet with its door slightly ajar. Harry could just make out the glint of potion vials reflecting the room's candle light.

As Ron helped Harry to the bed and supported him as he laid down, Snape joined them. He pulled out his wand as he approached Harry. After a series of elaborate wand movements, he headed for the cabinet and hastily swung open the door to inspect its contents. The Potion Master turned back around with four vials in hand.

"Miss Granger" Snape said. "I need you to hold these, and hand them to me as I request them. I assume you can identify each of these by sight?"

"Yes, of course, Professor." Hermione answered.

"Miss Weasley, stand on my left side, beside Mr. Potter's head," Ginny obeyed without comment, "And keep him calm."

"And Mr. Weasley... on the other side of the bed, opposite me." Snape commanded. He turned to Ron and spoke urgently, "He has two fractured ribs, one of which needs to be reset before it punctures his lung. This will be very painful and, undoubtedly, he will not react well. Hold him down until I am finished. Healing is not my... strongest talent."

"But... you will be able to heal him, won't you?" Ron pleaded, earning a fierce glare from Snape.

"If you don't screw this up Weasley, yes... I will be able to." Snape sneered.

He turned his attention back to Harry. For the second time, he pulled up Harry's shirt to uncover the marked, swollen flesh.

He raised his wand and called out, _"Corrigere!"_

Harry suddenly felt as if white-hot knives were slicing through his ribs as his body jerked spastically, and he heard himself cry out. Ron kept a iron grip on him, however, and he was able to move very little. The tears returned, obscuring his vision and he struggled to catch his breath as the pain seemed to intensify.

"Granger! Pain-Relieving Potion, NOW!" Hermione offered the vial to Snape with a trembling hand, while Ginny had already begun to lift Harry's head to better imbibe the fluid. Harry obediently drank the proffered potion as Snape placed the glass to his lips, anxious for any kind of relief. As soon as he swallowed the cool liquid, he began to feel its effects. He took a long, slow, tempering breath and closed his eyes.

"Potter, stay with me. I still have to clean and heal the cut. However, the worst is over"

Once again, Snape's wand was at the ready, _"Sourgify!" _Snape articulated as he his wand tip tediously drew small circles in the air above Harry's cut. Harry hissed as the cut burned menacingly.

_"Episky!"_ He finished, and Harry could feel the cut closing and stitching together.

"Miss Granger, hand me the Fever-Reducing Potion, the Skele-Gro and the Dreamless Sleep... in that order." Hermione complied with his request, and handed over the vials, one at a time. Harry dutifully drank what was offered, avoiding all eye-contact with the Potions Master. He just couldn't comprehend what had happened, could not wrap his brain around the events of the last few minutes. It was almost as if... Snape was... concerned for him. And he seemed so angry... well he was always angry at Harry...but this time it was more like he was angry on his behalf. But, that couldn't be correct. Snape had always hated him. He must be missing something here. Why would Snape suddenly feel concern for him?

"Potter, you are not to move from this bed for the rest of the day, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered.

"I will tend to those bruises tomorrow. Your body cannot take much more today. And the rest of you...OUT! Potter needs to sleep." Ginny seemed to want to argue, but was elbowed by Ron who gave her a _now-is-not-the-time_ kind of look and she thought better of it. The three Gryffindors reluctantly exited the room, leaving Harry alone with the Potion Master.

"Potter, before that Dreamless Sleep takes effect, you would do well to request some bedrooms, a washroom and perhaps a kitchen, as it appears that we are all not going anywhere for quite some time."

"OK, I'll do that...um... sir? I wanted to say... I mean... I just need to tell you..."

"Out with it, Potter!"

"Thank you... I just wanted to say... thank you."

Snape gave a curt nod in response and turned to leave. He stopped just before closing the door but turned back around, locking eyes with Harry. His jaw was set in a rigid line and Harry could see the fury return to his gaze.

"She never tried to stop it, did she?"

"Who?" Harry asked, completely nonplussed by his inquiry.

"Petunia"

**Whew! Four chapters in four days! I definitely won't be able to keep up this pace. But I promise to update in a timely manner.**

**I hope you're all still enjoying my story. Please review! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Once again, Harry woke to an irritating din. Hedwig, Harry thought. I should let her in before Uncle Vernon finds out she's been out again. Wait, that... can't be right… I sent her to Ron's. It took a moment for Harry's brain to catch up to recent events, but soon, the memories came flooding back.

The room.

The glamour.

The letter.

The truth spell.

Shit... his confession.

And... the healing.

Snape had healed him. And he'd seemed… concerned, almost enraged, by his relatives' treatment of him. And… he knows Aunt Petunia? Harry wasn't certain about that. But he was almost positive he had heard Snape ask something about her last night just before he'd succumbed to the sleeping draught. Petunia... he'd even called her Petunia. How would Snape even know his aunt's first name unless he had known her somehow? Or maybe Dumbledore had told him her name. That must have been it.

Harry was distracted from his thoughts by the same noise that had awoken him. Slowly, Harry propped himself up on his elbows and scanned the room for his glasses. He found them next to his wand on top of a small table beside the bed, and put them on. With the world in better focus and his head much clearer than when he had first woken up, he finally was able to determine what was making the clamor. Someone was knocking on his door, quietly as if hesitant to actually disturb him too much.

"Come in, I'm up." Harry called out.

The door slowly swung forward, and a wild mop of bushy brown hair tentatively emerged from behind it. There was a small, ambivalent smile illuminating Hermione's face, that otherwise bore the unmistakable signs of fatigue. And she looked as though she had been crying recently. Her eyes were red-rimmed and the lids slightly swollen.

"Hi, Harry. Um... how are you feeling?" She asked, still somewhat concealed by the door.

"I'm better. I mean... I don't really feel too much pain anymore. Well, I guess I'm a little sore," Harry confessed, "But loads better than earlier. Hermione, is it still morning? How long did I sleep?"

"Oh... well, it is morning, yes... but, um, it's Sunday morning, actually. It's still pretty early though. Almost seven. You slept nearly twenty hours, Harry. Professor Snape said that you needed to stay in bed, insisting that your broken ribs required a lot of time to heal. He mentioned that it was a really bad fracture."

Harry sat up straighter in the bed as Hermione closed the door behind her and approached him. She stopped short of the bed, nervously bit her lower lip and lowered her head slightly as if hesitant to cause him distress by coming too close.

"Hermione... please... don't start acting different around me. Please. I... I'm still Harry. OK? I'm still just Harry."

"Oh, Harry!" she whimpered as she closed the distance between them, "I'm so sorry! I've just been so worried about you!" She slumped down on the bed beside him and threw her arms around his neck in a forlorn embrace. "Ginny and Ron and I are just so glad you're OK. It was so terrifying to see you in so much pain yesterday. We... we just want you to be alright."

"Hey, Hermione... I'm alright, really. I'm fine," Harry reassured her and tightened the hug to comfort her. When he finally released her, he could see that she had begun to cry once more. Harry smiled and attempted to direct the conversation away from yesterday's events.

"So, what has everyone be doing for food? I mean... I did request a kitchen yesterday, but I was pretty groggy from the Dreamless Sleep and I'm not sure how well I managed it."

"Oh, yes, we have a fully equipped kitchen," she explained, "and three bedrooms, aside from this one obviously, and a washroom as well. And Professor Snape's been cooking for us and..."

"Wait... what? Snape cooks? Seriously?"

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry, and yes. He cooks. Very well, I might add." She commented, "I heard him say something about it being _virtually indistinguishable from potion-making_... or something like that. Not that he's spoken much. He's not really said much at all since... well, since... yesterday."

"Oh," Harry muttered, "Well, I guess maybe he's had a lot on his mind. He seemed very angry yesterday, didn't he?"

"Yes, Harry, he was. I think that was the angriest I have ever seen him. And after you fell asleep, he was still so shaken. It wasn't until late last night when he returned from your room after healing your bruises that he seemed a bit more calm." She explained.

"What? He... he healed my bruises?" Harry lifted his t-shirt to inspect her claim and saw that his skin was again unblemished. "But I didn't even realize he was here."

"He... he was with you for quite a while, actually. I mean... much longer than the time it would take to tend to a few bruises. I... I think... I think he was just sitting with you... you know... to make sure you were really OK. Harry, I really think the Professor was worried about you."

"I just... don't understand it," Harry blurted out, "It doesn't make sense. He hates me, Hermione! He's always hated me!"

"Harry, I don't exactly understand it either, but... well, we were ALL so upset yesterday! Those things you said... the awful things they did to you... when you were just a little boy!" She choked out the last few words, covering her face with her hands, as she began to sob.

"Shhh... Hermione, please don't cry again. Come here," Harry captured her in his arms again and pulled her close. "It's OK. It's going to be alright."

They were interrupted by the door banging open abruptly, and Ron bounding into the room, "Hey, mate, Snape says breakfast will be ready in just a few..."

He stopped dead and stared at Harry and Hermione embracing on the bed. His features appeared to be frozen in shock for a moment, then his eyes darted swiftly from Hermione to Harry, then back to Hermione again. His face reddened furiously and his eye narrowed to slits. When he finally spoke, there was a malice to his tone that Harry had never heard from him before, "Sorry to... ah... break up this little... _friendly_ moment. But, please don't let me stop you... by all means... continue your little tryst!"

With that, Ron stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Hermione instantly leapt from the bed after him, calling his name.

What just happened, Harry thought desperately, what the hell just happened?

Harry hurriedly got off the bed and made his way out of the infirmary room and into the sitting room where he found his two best friends already deep into an intense verbal sparring match.

"What is your problem? I was crying and Harry was just..."

"I KNOW what he was doing... what YOU were doing!" Ron shouted, "Do you think I don't know what I just saw? I'm not stupid, Hermione, I can see for God's sake!"

"You don't know anything, Ronald Weasley! Anything at all!" Hermione snapped.

"Oh yeah? Then tell me, Hermione, tell me what I don't know... Is this it, Hermione? Is this YOUR big secret? Your deception? Is this the truth that you need to come clean with? ...that you and Harry have a thing for each other?"

Hermione took a deep breath and meet his angry gaze with equal fury, "Is that really what you think?" she asked.

"Yes I do!" Ron yelled, face red, body trembling with rage as he shouted.

"Well... you know what I think, Ronald? I think you're jealous. I think YOUR big deception is that you CAN'T DEAL WITH THE FACT THAT YOU HAVE FEELINGS FOR ME!"

She must have crossed a line, because the next moment both of their wands were drawn and leveled directly at each other's seething faces.

No one dared to move, the very air seemed to stagnate. Harry's eyes drifted briefly to the other occupants of the room. Dumbledore was watching the scene raptly with a twinkle in his eye and a serene simper in place as though patiently waiting for the big finish of a Hollywood movie. Snape, in opposition, looked thoroughly bored. He seemed more interested in the breakfast he was plating. Ginny looked tense, yet eager to see this play out. Harry's gaze returned to Ron and Hermione when he heard Ron hiss a low, dangerous warning...

"You... you wouldn't dare!"

"You wanna bet?" came Hermione's riposte.

_"Magnis Veritatem!"_

The two spells were issued simultaneously. And in an instant, both Ron and Hermione swayed where they stood. Ron reached out to steady Hermione as she began to stumble toward him. There eyes met and they clutched each other as if they were drowning.

"I'm sorry... God, I'm so sorry, Hermione. I.. I... I just can't stand to see you with someone else..."

"Why, Ron, please... tell me. I need to hear it... please."

"Hermione... I love you so much. I just don't know how to tell you... what to say. And I can't breathe when I think that you might not love me too. I'm terrified that I'm not good enough for you," Ron had tears in his eyes and he had both arms around Hermione now, pulling her closer, holding her tightly as he struggled to speak, "I ... love you.. love you..."

Hermione's tears ran down her cheeks as she smiled at Ron, "I love you too, Ron. It's always been you... always." She pulled Ron closer until his forehead leaned on hers. And as he closed his eyes, content in hearing her words echo in his memory, she kissed his still grinning lips.

Harry looked away, feeling like it would be indecent at this point to continue to view the scene. He glanced at Ginny whose attention was not, however, on her brother and Hermione, but focused resolutely on him. Harry instantly turned away from her and gazed, unseeing, at the floor. There was something in her eyes that terrified him and thrilled him all at once, and he could not bare to see that look directed at him. _I don't deserve to be loved. _Those words he had recited yesterday seemed to play in his mind over and over again, like a broken record, a debilitating mantra with no end in sight. I will never be worthy of anyone's love, he thought.

"If we are done playing American Soap Opera," Snape's jeering retort broke the tension easily, "perhaps we could take a moment to actually crawl out of this dramatic hell hole and do something normal like EAT OUR DAMN BREAKFAST!"

**Please Review :)**

**I'm already working on Chapter six in my head... stay tuned!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Breakfast was a unique experience. For starters, Hermione had been correct, Snape could definitely cook. They were all treated to a traditional breakfast fry-up complete with bacon, fried eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, toast, baked beans and a full pot of darjeeling tea. Harry hadn't seen so much food since the end-of-term feast. But to say that the mood was strained would have been an understatement. No one spoke... at all. The only activity at the table was the whimsical smiles and fervent looks back and forth between a beaming Hermione and a thoroughly complacent Ron. Harry was almost positive they were holding hands under the table as each of them only used one hand to eat their entire meal. At one point, Ginny seemed to succumb to the obvious tension in the room and started giggling anxiously, much to the displeasure of the Potion Master who deemed her display, along with Ron's and Hermione's antics, exceedingly gratuitous disruptions.

"Oh, for the love of God! Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger... would you be so kind as to make yourselves scarce from my presence? And take your nauseating adolescent infatuation with you!" Snape growled, "I've had enough love-struck dramatics to last me for the whole remainder of my existence."

"Now, Severus," Dumbledore countered, "You are not yet so old that you can't recall the allure and excitement of young love. Why, I seem to remember a time when you yourself..."

"Albus... do NOT finish that statement." Snape interjected with unequivocal loathing in his timbre. Dumbledore complied, but Harry noticed a satisfied leer of amusement across his features where there hadn't been one before.

Ron and Hermione, however, did not stay to see it. They took Snape's dismissal as a pardon of sorts, and took off into one of the back rooms. Harry just heard the sound of a door closing in the distance, when Snape added, "...and leave that door OPEN!" This set Ginny off again. Harry imagined she thought it too similar to something Mrs. Weasley might have yelled, and that hearing the statement coming from the extremely strict, and downright contemptible Potions professor, was just too much to take.

After an absolute vile look in her direction from Snape, Ginny cut her mirth short, and the four of them finished breakfast in amicable silence. But when the Headmaster reached out to pour himself a second helping of tea, Harry once again noticed the headmaster's blackened and injured hand.

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry began, "What happened to you hand?"

"Ah yes, my boy, a riveting tale indeed, however, now is not the time for such an insignificant narrative. Another day, perhaps." Dumbledore answered nonchalantly, waving his uninjured hand as if to dismiss the notion. But at his words, Snape stiffened in his chair and looked down at his own hands. His agitation was evident, and Harry could see a muscle just above his left eye twitch faintly. Harry tore his gaze away from the Potion Master and looked back at the Headmaster. Despite Snape's obvious tension, Dumbledore paid no attention to him.

"With all due respect Professor Dumbledore, I think now is the perfect time. I mean... isn't this why we're all here? To tell our... uh... _riveting tales?_" Harry was taken aback by the sarcasm in his own voice, but something about the way Snape seemed so uncomfortable by this topic, and the manner in which Dumbledore was completely disregarding his plight, irritated Harry. There was deception here, he knew it. Something big. And he did not want to let this go.

Harry didn't get the opportunity to press the issue, though, as Snape briskly rose from the table without a word and exited to the sitting room. Harry watched him standing in the far corner of the room, staring at the floundering embers of the slowly perishing flames in the hearth.

"Come on, Harry. Let's clean up," Ginny's dulcet tone pulled him from his scrutiny, and he followed her into the kitchen with a hand full of dishes.

"So... what do you think that was about?" Ginny asked.

"I'm not sure, but it... it's important. Something's going on with Snape and Dumbledore. They're hiding something and..."

"I know, I know... and you're going to find out what it is. Right?" A smile lit up Ginny's face as she continued, "Now, that's the Harry we all know and love."

Harry could feel his cheeks heat up at her last words, and he turned back toward the sink, busying himself with the task of scrubbing the silver. She paid his discomfort no mind, however and continued, "I'm really happy for them, you know? Ron and Hermione, I mean. It's about time! Don't you think?"

"Oh... yeah. Definitely. I wasn't sure they'd ever realize they liked each other." Harry replied.

"Yeah... They really do deserve this, ya know? ...they deserve to find happiness." At that, she startled Harry by grasping his hand and pulling him closer to her, "We all deserve that, Harry ...even you." She was looking directly into his eyes, and Harry could clearly see that same sincere compassion in her gaze that he had noticed the day before when his glamour had been discovered and he had felt so panicked. It soothed him once again and, for a moment, he let himself be lost in her warmth. But the moment was short-lived, interrupted by a voice that surged from somewhere deep inside him and hissed to him softly, poisonously... _You don't deserve to be loved. You're nothing but a freak. Everyone you love dies. It's your fault they die..._

"I... I... I should get back out there... I think Snape said I needed to... uh... take a potion..." He pulled away abruptly and left the kitchen, with Ginny following in his wake.

They entered the sitting room just in time to find Ron and Hermione vacating the room they had been secluded in, still smiling ardently. "Hey, mate, how was the rest of breakfast? Sorry, we didn't stick around, but I think Snape may have lost it completely if we hadn't left when we did." Ron quipped.

"Yeah... it was fine. Look, I need to figure out what happened to the Headmaster's hand. Snape and Dumbledore know something, but they won't budge. And whatever it is, it's significant enough to put Snape on edge." Harry told them, "Where are they anyway?"

"I guess they're in their room. They're sharing the one on the end." Hermione explained at Harry's bewildered expression, "You and Ron have that one, Ginny and I are sharing that one in the middle, and the Professors have the one in the corner, beside the kitchen."

"So, Harry... are you going to, you know... use the spell on them?" Ron asked, "You know they'll never tell you anything otherwise."

"Ugh... I don't want to," Harry admitted as he collapsed on the settee and sank into the cushions. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "But, I know there's more to this... I just have a strong suspicion that this is definitely one of the reasons why we are here. It's important, I know it."

Harry's relaxed position ended hastily as the blue flash of light that signaled a change to the parchment permeated the room. Harry snatched the letter and quickly skimmed to the bottom of the missive. There, at the very end of the yesterday's message, was a new epistle. One sentence only...

_Ask him about the Unbreakable Vow._

Immediately after reading the words, Harry heard gasps from all three of his friends. "What?" Harry asked, "What's an Unbreakable Vow?"

"It's an oath, Harry, a promise to do something, and it's bonded by magic. You can't break an Unbreakable Vow... or you die."

"What? Snape made an Unbreakable Vow? He's risking his life because of some bonded promise?" Harry exclaimed, "That's... that's crazy!"

"Mate, you don't even know if it's Snape or Dumbledore who made the vow! The letter just says _him_. It could be either one of them," Ron offered.

"No. it's Snape... I know it's him," Harry thought back to the anxious look on Snape's face at breakfast, and Dumbledore's indifference, and anger once again took hold of him.

Harry turned to see Snape storm out of his room, with a furious expression, and enter the sitting room coming toward them. Harry took no time at all in questioning him.

"What did you promise?" Snape stopped dead in his tracks and eyed Harry cynically. When no reply came, Harry persisted, "The vow! The Unbreakable Vow! What is it?"

Instantly, Snape's features hardened to a defensive, impenetrable mask of complete disinterest, "Potter, what perilous scenario have you and your little impertinent fan-club members concocted this time? Going to try and save the day again, are you? Shall I expect another cryptic message regarding torture and a hidden object in the Department of..."

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD! Don't you DARE talk to me about that night!"

_"Magnis Veritatem!"_

Snape's knees hit the floor with a forceable crack. Even with his hands outstretched on the floor bracing him, you could see his arms shaking and his head swaying ominously. Harry tried to focus on getting information about the Unbreakable Vow, but Snape's recent taunt about the night Sirius died was still ringing in his ears, filling him with a maddening rage.

"Did you delay in telling the Order of the Phoenix that night?"

Snape groaned as if in pain and squeezed his eyes together tightly. Harry could tell he was fighting the effects of the spell just as he had done the day before. He heard Snape take a deep breath as he brought both hands to cover his face, then agitatedly carted his fingers through his hair, grabbing at the ends in frustration. His voice was shaky and low when he finally succumbed to speech...

"No. I sent my Patronus to Albus and Moody immediately. Then, I went to Grimmauld Place and found Black. I tried to stop him from going..."

"This c-c-can't be true! You.. you hated Sirius! You wanted him to die! You wanted me to suffer! You..."

"I HAVE ALWAYS HATED BLACK!" Snape wailed, "But... I didn't want him dead. And I..I... would NEVER want you to suffer ...could never allow you to be harmed ...could never let that happen."

Harry's brain was reeling. This... this was the truth. Of course it was. He knew what it was like to be under this spell. Snape could not lie to him right now.

"What is the Unbreakable Vow?" Harry asked, almost terrified now to know the truth that was only moments away.

Snape's whole body seemed to shudder, and he looked up into Harry's face almost imploringly, as if begging Harry not to require an answer to this question.

"I need to know, Snape, you know I do. This is why we're here."

"Draco has been given an assignment by the Dark Lord. He is supposed to murder the Headmaster. But... Albus... Albus is dying... his hand is cursed... it's fatal... the Dark Lord doesn't know this... " Snape's breathing was increasing, and his hands were once again clutching strands of his own hair, "Narcissa asked me to help Draco, protect him as he attempts to complete his task. She... and Bellatrix... I made the Unbreakable Vow to help Draco... and I must kill Albus if he fails."

Harry suddenly found himself on the floor in front of Snape, looking directly into his eyes as he spoke. He was shaking almost as badly as Snape now, his stomach churning painfully at what he was hearing. He wanted Snape to stop talking, to end this miserable truth, but his voice had failed him.

"Albus... Albus doesn't want Draco to become a killer... he wants me to... kill him..."

"NO!" Harry shot up from where he been kneeling in front of Snape, "NO!" He whirled around to see the Headmaster standing behind him, a look of intense regret in his blue eyes.

"NO! How could you? You can't ask him to do this! After all he has done for you... all he sacrifices for this war... you can't ask this of him! It's TOO MUCH!" Harry paid no attention to the tears now cascading down his cheek, or the way his voice seemed to tremble with pain and rage. He only cared that this was the most angry he had ever been with the Headmaster and he hated that there seemed to be no way out of this.

"But Harry," Hermione spoke up hesitantly, "Professor Snape has no choice now. He made an Unbreakable Vow. He'll die if doesn't do as he's promised."

"I am already dying, my dear boy. There isn't much time left for me. Severus will be doing an old man a great favor by..."

"DOES IT LOOK TO YOU LIKE HE CONSIDERS THIS A FUCKING FAVOR?"

"Potter..." Snape spoke, whispered, so quietly Harry barely heard it through the sound of his own heart pounding furiously in his chest.

Snape grabbed Harry's wrist and pulled on it, urging him to come closer. Harry obliged, once again bending down to kneel directly in front of him. He gazed at Snape's face, so filled with pain and sadness, it made his heart ache. His dark eyes locked with Harry's, and Harry was astonished to see tears welled up in them.

"I'm... sorry... so sorry... I never realized," He spoke so softly now, Harry was having trouble hearing him, even as he was kneeling right in front of Snape.

"What, Professor," Harry whispered back, "What hadn't you realized?"

"You're... you're so much... like your mother."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

"My mother? Professor, I... I don't understand... "

Harry struggled to absorb what Snape was trying to tell him. He was sorry? And... he thought Harry was like his mother? It just didn't make any sense. Did Snape even really know his mother? Well... yes, Harry realized, he did know his mum. Harry remembered it with precise clarity as if the memory had actually been his to recall... the look of sheer rage distorting the features of a humiliated fifteen-year-old Severus Snape. And the livid face of Lily Evans as she attempted to persuade an arrogant James Potter to stop bullying the Slytherin. And then... Snape had called her a Mudblood. There was such wrath in his voice as he had said it, of course Harry had assumed that Snape hated her. But... maybe... maybe that wasn't right. Maybe he had misinterpreted the scene. Because now Harry was kneeling in front of a trembling, broken man whose face plainly portrayed deep pain... regret... remorse... and all the while he was sill looking at Harry, imploring him to understand the he, Harry, was not like his father, as Snape had always vehemently proclaimed in the past. Now he was insisting that Harry was, in fact, like Lily. Not James... Lily.

"Were you... and my mum... close?" He heard himself ask the question before he could stop himself, so desperate to make sense of everything.

At his inquiry, Snape slowly closed his eyes. The paltry gesture was just enough to persuade one solitary tear to rove wearily down his sallow check as he took an unsteady breath and answered Harry, "She was... my best friend."

The last few words came out as a strangled sob, and Harry's heart clenched painfully upon hearing it.

"I believe... " interjected Dumbledore, startling Harry when the aged man's hand was suddenly upon his shoulder, "that perhaps Professor Snape has endured enough for today."

Dumbledore gave Harry's shoulder what was obviously meant to be a reassuring squeeze and then proceeded to help the still kneeling and quivering Potion Master to his feet. No words were exchanged between the two as Dumbledore led him out of the sitting room and into the far room, and Harry got the distinct impression that Snape probably hadn't the strength left to speak after his emotional ordeal.

When Harry was certain they had disappeared behind the heavy oak door of their room, Harry got to his feet and slowly made his way to one of the settees. He crumpled into the corner of the plush couch and gazed in the direction of his mates. Ron had both arms wrapped protectively around Hermione, who was wiping her tear-strewn face with a handkerchief, eyes puffy again. Ginny was staring at the floor and looked as though she was lost in thought, or maybe shock, Harry wasn't sure. No one spoke for several moments... each seemingly adrift, focused on their own fathomless reflections.

It was Ron that snapped them out of their individual reveries, "I can't believe... I mean, how can Dumbledore really be... dying?"

"Professor Snape said his hand was cursed, didn't he?" Hermione said as she sniffed and tried to keep her voice stable, "But... how could that have happened? Do you think... it was... V-V-Voldermort?"

"No. that can't be right," Ginny added. "Snape said that You-Know-Who didn't know about Dumbledore's hand. Remember? What do you think, Harry? ...Harry?"

Harry listened to his friends, watched them as they deliberated over the rationale behind this new truth, this recent incendiary revelation. He desperately tried to focus on calming down enough to answer them, but his mind was racing and he was struggling to even out his brisk, shallow breathing. Dumbledore was dying. And Snape... Snape had to be the one to inflict the final blow. He wondered how they were planning to do it... probably an overdose of a powerful sleeping draught, Harry imagined. That would certainly be Snape's preference. But that method would never appease Voldermort. No, Dumbledore's final moments would need to be more ostentatious to win Voldemort's approval. He would want it to be public; he would insist that the deed be witnessed by those who could attest to the ultimate impending failure of the great Albus Dumbledore. Maybe Avada Kedavra, he surmised. Snape would not agree to anything that would cause unnecessary pain, and the killing curse would be quick... yet substantial, memorable...

Harry pulled himself from his morbid musings and tried, once again, to concentrate on his friends' queries. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded almost foreign to him, a harsh contrast to his panicked introspection.

"I.. I think... I think that we just don't have enough information yet. We'll need to find out, though. Because it must have something to do with Voldemort. I can't see Dumbledore risking being fatally cursed unless it had something to do with this war. He must have been attempting to gain information on Voldemort... or searching for a way to weaken him... or a way to help me..."

Harry stopped his speech precipitously as he considered what he was just about to disclose. The prophesy. His friends didn't know its contents... didn't know that he was fated to be either murderer or murder victim. And as he looked up into their bated expressions, he realized what he must do. No truth spell needed this time. He would unveil this secret voluntarily. As difficult as this would be, his friends deserved to know.

Harry cleared his throat and began, "Uh... maybe you three should sit down. I have something I need to tell you."

The Gryffindors complied. Ron and Hermione took the settee opposite him, while Ginny curled up beside Harry, tucking her legs underneath her as she leaned close to him. Her hand snaked its way into Harry's trembling one, and Harry found repose in lacing their fingers together. He took a moment to gaze at their joined hands and, once again, found the conviction to do what he must.

"You all remember that the prophesy was destroyed at the Department of Mysteries when Neville dropped it. Well, the prophesy was originally foretold by Professor Trelawny to Professor Dumbledore," Harry explained, " And... well, Dumbledore told me what it said once we got back from the Ministry that night."

Harry looked over at Ron and Hermione whose eyes had become wide with apprehension. Ginny's other hand had settled on his arm, and she gently squeezed as if to encourage him to continue. He took a deep breath and proceeded.

"It's about both of us... Voldemort and me. And it says that I have the power to vanquish him, power that he doesn't know about... " Harry was vaguely aware that someone had gasped, Hermione he thought, but he continued, intending to get this over with quickly, "And it also says that... _either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives._"

"But... what does that last bit even mean... neither can live while the other survives? That makes it sound like..." Ron reasoned, "It almost sounds like you're either going to kill him... or..."

"Die by his hand," Harry finished for him in an lifeless tone, "Yes... that's what it means."

The solace he had been receiving from Ginny's hand entwined with his and the warm feel of her leaning into him receded, as Ginny immediately ascended from the settee and, without even a glance back in their direction, dashed from the sitting room and into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Harry looked down at his now empty hand as the familiar words echoed in his mind..._ You don't deserve to be loved. Everyone you love dies. It's your fault they die..._

And for the first time, new lines of script were injected into the well-rehearsed edict... _You will not survive this war. You don't deserve to live._

And before he could stop it, tears were flooding his eyes, threatening to spill. Hermione was at his side in an instant. "Harry, you're not going to be the one to die! We won't let you!"

"That's right, Harry," Ron added, "That snake-faced bastard is going to die! Not you. And we'll do whatever it takes to help you kill him!"

Harry looked away from them, instead glancing toward the closed bedroom door where Ginny had secluded herself. He wondered if she was angry with him... or, perhaps, heartbroken... after hearing of his fate. She's probably crying in there, he thought. And he hated himself for causing her this pain.

"She'll be alright, Harry. She... she just cares about so much. This must've been very hard for her to hear," Hermione consoled. "I expect that she just needs a little time to think, that's all. I'll go see how she's doing."

With that, she gave him a reassuring hug, then left the room to console Ginny.

"So... uh... what did Snape whisper to you?" Ron asked, "None of us could make out what you two were saying."

"Oh, yeah... he... um... he told me that he was sorry... sorry that he never realized..." Harry continued, shuddering slightly as he remembered the pained expression on Snape's face, "He told me that I'm... just like my mother. And when I asked if he and mum were close, he said that she was his best friend."

"Hm." Ron mumbled, looking thoughtful. He had lowered his head slightly as if contemplating some baffling obscurity. His eyebrows were drawn closely together and his eyes were attenuated. It reminded Harry of the look his face adorned every time he was contemplating a new strategy in chess.

"Harry... has it occurred to you that maybe... maybe Snape considered your mum as MORE than a friend?"

"What? You mean... What do you mean?"

"I mean... Look, Harry, Snape has hated you since your very first day at Hogwarts," Ron explained, "And he's been a right git to you at every opportunity."

"Yes, Ron, I know this. And I also know why! He hated my father. Dad and Sirius bullied him at school... made his life hell. So he hates me because he thinks I'm like him!"

"Alright, yeah, I get all that, but... mate, he REALLY hated you. And well, it just seems like there has to be more behind his hostility towards you than some stupid grudge from school."

At Harry's continued look of confusion, he tried again, "OK... just suppose I'm in love with Hermione..."

Harry's puzzled expression instantly transformed into an amused smile, "Well, that's not hard to imagine," He teased.

"Yeah, yeah... OK, stay with me here... Let's just pretend that Hermione DOESN'T feel the same way about me as I feel about her. And in fact, let's just say, she's really in love with Draco Malfoy."

"Ugggh! Ron... that's ridiculous! You know she would never..."

"Harry, damn it! This is hypothetical, alright? Just hear me out!" Ron exclaimed, "OK... so then Hermione and the ferret get married, have a child... a child, I might add, that looks just like Malfoy... and THEN they get themselves killed because they were trying to protect the child. And ten years later... I have to teach their child potions. Can you understand how much I would hate that kid?"

As Ron's meaning began to sink in, Harry remembered, once more, the absolute agony in Snape's penetrating gaze as he had apologized to him. Obsidian eyes suffused with angst and regret, imploring Harry to understand... _you're so much like your mother_. And he recalled the fury the Potion Master exhibited upon hearing about his relatives' treatment of him. The pure, raw rage in his dark eyes as he had asked Harry if his aunt had ever tried to stop it. Such an empirical anger that Harry had wondered if Snape had known her. Yes... he had known Petunia AND his mum. And he had loved his mum. And as the memory of that strangled sob and solitary tear blazed brightly in his mind's eye, Harry realized that Snape not only loved his mother... but that he STILL loved her.

"Oh God... I think you're right."

**Woo-hoo... another chapter done! Lots more exciting moments to come. Stay tuned.**

**Please review. :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

After accepting this newest, confusing and slightly unsettling revelation that Snape was not only best friends with his mother, but also most likely in love with her since the time they were children, Harry spent most of the remainder of their second day in the Room of Requirement in a deeply introspective mood. So much had been revealed since the moment they first arrived here yesterday morning, yet it was this latest discovery that seemed to affect him the most, shaking the very foundation of everything he thought was true and real. Two days ago, he had hated his Potions professor, loathed his very existence. And he was absolutely convinced that the feeling was mutual. This man had taunted him and insulted him ever since his first day at Hogwarts. He had belittled him, goaded him, humiliated him and bullied him. Harry was also quite convinced that Snape was not someone who could be trusted; that he was an evil, twisted Death Eater that had clearly hoodwinked Dumbledore into trusting him implicitly. Now, however, he felt compelled to admit that things were not entirely as they had once appeared.

Yes, Snape treated him like shit. He treated a lot of people like shit, actually. This was an unequivocal fact. But Harry was definitely wrong about Snape's loyalties. All Harry's doubts about that had disappeared upon witnessing Snape revealing his dreaded role in the Headmaster's imminent demise while under the influence of the truth spell. It was obvious that Snape was completely anguished at the very idea of taking Dumbledore's life. And, well, even though Snape HAD been horrible to him in the past, Harry could see now that Snape had always tried to protect him, tried to keep him safe. He had saved Harry's life more than once.

And even those disastrous Occlumency lessons seemed to take on a different meaning to him now. He was harsh with Harry, that was beyond question, but now he could see that Snape truly had wanted him to master the skill in order to safeguard his mind from Voldemort's intrusion. Hadn't Snape insisted that he practice clearing his mind every night before sleeping? And Harry hadn't done that. No. He was so convinced that Snape was trying to harm him, make him MORE vulnerable to mind penetration, that Harry hadn't done as Snape had instructed. And now Harry was forced to acknowledge that his inability to improve in Occlumency probably had much more to do with the fact that Harry was blinded by his rage towards the Potion Master, than it had to do with Snape's rough treatment of him.

And Snape had loved his mother. Harry's mind was still reeling over this knowledge. Had his mum loved Snape as well? Of course, he knew how the situation ultimately resolved itself. Sometime after his parents' OWLs, his mother had fallen in love with his father... and, he supposed, Snape had to have been completely out of the picture by then. But... was it possible that at some point his mother had loved Snape? They had to have been very close judging from Snape's obvious pain when he was speaking about their friendship. And, even if his mum had never been in love with Snape, she must have cared for him very deeply for them to have been best friends. And what confused him the most about this whole thing was... if his mother had cared so much about Snape, then Snape HAD to have been a better person than he currently is... or was... or pretends to be. There is just no way his mother would be best friends with the bitter, hateful, angry man that Snape has become. The only thing that made any sense to him was that Snape had changed. Perhaps it was losing the woman he loved to James Potter, the very person that had made his adolescent years torture at school. Maybe that was enough to push Snape into a life suffused with contempt and resentment. Or... maybe it was more than that, Harry mused, maybe it was his mum's death that changed him. God... he could only imagine how he would feel if the woman he loved rejected him and then was murdered. Would it be enough to consume him with anger and pain? ...enough to convince him to hide from any real emotion? ...enough to drive him to live a life of defensive solitude?

Harry's reflection brought him no closer to any real answers, however, and the man who could have actually shed light on his inquiries remained isolated in his room for the rest of the day. Dumbledore emerged mid morning and told them all that Snape needed the day to recover, and that he was not to be disturbed.

The hours seemed to pass at a torturously slow rate. He, Ron and Hermione tried to keep busy playing exploding snap and wizard's chess – both of which Harry had requested from the room in order to reduce the constant whining of a very BORED Ron Weasley. Ginny stayed in her room until sometime after lunch. When she finally emerged, she looked troubled and distant. And she spent the rest of the day gazing at the pages of a book that Harry was certain she was not really reading. Dumbledore spent most of his time in the kitchen, drinking tea and scanning the contents of a huge stack of ancient tomes from the bookshelf. Harry had the impression that he was researching something, but after what had already occurred that morning, he had little desire to inquire as to what.

Harry's only reprieve from complete monotony of the day was lunch and dinner. Harry cooked both meals, with the assistance of Hermione who, like himself, grew up cooking in a muggle kitchen. The meals weren't exactly as impressive as Snape's feast had been but, Harry had to admit, they were pretty damn good. His friends were really interested in how he had become such a competent cook, until Harry had reluctantly admitted that the Dursleys had forced him to cook all of their meals for them from the time Harry could reach the knobs on the stove. That disclosure effectively quieted the room, and no one spoke again until sometime in the afternoon.

By nine o'clock that evening, the room's occupants seemed to have had enough of the nearly suffocating tension and the palpable restlessness. One by one, they all retired to their rooms for a much needed end to a very stressful and strange day. Harry was the last to leave the sitting room. As he entered his and Ron's bedroom, he heard Ron's thundering snores reverberating throughout the room, and he had to smile as he was reminded fondly of his dorm room back in Gryffindor tower. Exhausted and frazzled from recent events, Harry gratefully climbed into his bed and, as was his habit whenever he bunked with others, he performed a well-practiced silencing charm. He had horrible nightmares even during those rare times when his life was somewhat uneventful. So he could only imagine the intensity tonight's night terrors would reach. Screaming in his sleep was typical during his nightmares, so a silencing charm was a necessity. The last thing he needed after all that had already occurred was to wake everyone up with his desperate panicked nighttime shrieks.

Harry closed his eyes and was relieved to feel sleep take almost no time to procure him. His eyelids felt heavy and his breathing deepened as his consciousness teetered on the edge of slumber. His body felt like it was drifting, floating...

_...His feet hit the ground harshly with a resounding thud, and his legs immediately collapsed underneath him. He scrambled on his hands and knees, frantic to help Cedric._

_"No! NO! Not again... Cedric... Don't be dead! NO! Please help!"_

_He tried to look away from Cedric's unseeing eyes, his lifeless gaze, just as he felt a cold, dead hand grasp the nape of his neck and force him to look back upon the face of his dead classmate._

_"See what you did, Harry? YOU caused this... You killed him. He needn't have died." a serpent-like voice hissed in his ear._

_"NO! That's not true! I didn't want him to die!"_

_Harry closed his eyes, desperate to stop seeing the dead form of Cedric's frail body. I need to wake up, he urged... this isn't real..._

_"Oh but it IS real, isn't it?" the voice replied with an evil tonality._

_Harry's eyes snapped open and he stared at the scene. It had changed. In front of him stood his Godfather, eyes wide, as he helplessly fell back into the gently swaying veil._

_"NO! Please... God... NO! Stop this! I don't want to see this, not again!"_

_"Oh, but you must see, you must understand, you must feel this pain... you deserve this, Harry. You DESERVE to suffer. You killed your own Godfather after all... just like you killed your parents," The voice once again taunted him, his sinister words cutting through his heart like the blade of a knife._

_The image of Sirius' terrified face as he fell to his death morphed into another horrifying vision. The anguished, haunted ebony eyes of Severus Snape swam into view as the fatal words fell from his trembling lips, "Avada Kedavra!"_

_The Headmaster hit the floor instantly in a crumpled heap, and Snape released an ungodly, hollow anguished scream._

_That same cold, poisonous voice purred into his ear once more, "...Everyone you love dies. It's your fault they die..."_

_"No. No! NO!..."_

Harry awoke still screaming, drenched in sweat and shaking with fear. He was panting rapidly and he could taste the unmistakable coppery taste of blood on his tongue. Harry wiped his lips with the back of his trembling hand and looked down at the brilliant red smear that now stood out in stark contrast to his pale flesh. He tried to get control of his breathing and his pounding heart as he attempted to assess the situation. It was still dark in the room. Still nighttime then. He regretted, not for the first time in his life, that he had not taken the time to learn how to perform a simple healing charm, as it was apparent that he had bitten his lip pretty badly during his nightmare.

Resigned to settle for some ice from the freezer, he eased off the bed and walked with shaky legs out of the bedroom and into the sitting room. When he reached the first settee he realized he was not alone. Snape was sitting in one of the leather chairs by the hearth, and as Harry advanced further into the room, he glanced up from the book he was reading.

"Oh... sorry, Professor. I.. I didn't know anyone else was up." Harry tried to say, but his voice was raspy and hoarse from screaming.

"Potter, what have you done to your voice? You sound as though you've been..." Snape began, but stopped abruptly as his focus shifted from Harry's emerald eyes down to his blood-smeared lips. He was out of his seat in an instant and before Harry could utter an explanation, Snape was beside him. He reached out with both hands and gently placed them on either side of Harry's face, turning his head slightly to analyze his injury.

"What happened?" Snape asked. The concern Harry had seen on Snape's features only days ago when his glamour was released had once again returned. And Harry was shocked that this small cut could bring about a similar response.

"It's nothing. I... I... I just bit my lip. That's all. I was just going to get some ice." Harry explained.

"Come. Sit. I will heal it." Snape commanded.

Harry followed obediently and settled himself on the settee nearest the hearth, allowing the warmth from the smoldering embers to soothe his post-nightmare nerves. Snape took the seat next to him, took out his wand, and performed a cleaning charm and a healing charm on his bleeding lip.

"Thanks. I guess... I'll just go back to bed..."

"Not yet, Mr. Potter. You... obviously need some time to recover," Snape replied. He was still surveying him intensely, just as he had while assessing his cut, and his gaze seemed to penetrate Harry's very soul. What was this look? Pity? Sympathy? Concern, maybe. Harry wasn't sure. The truth of it was that he had very little experience dealing with adults caring for him, so when he was faced with it, especially from his previously most-hated professor, he was left with a rather uncomfortable knot in his stomach.

"What? ...from a simple cut on my lip? No, really Professor, I'll be OK." He got up to leave but was denied the chance as Snape's hand grasped his wrist and held on firmly.

"No, Potter, not from a simple cut on your lip, but from the discernibly distressing nightmare that precipitated you to bite your lip and scream yourself hoarse," Snape retorted, "Now... sit back down here. I will tell you when I feel you are recovered enough to return to your room."

"I wasn't screaming... I mean, it wasn't really that bad... I just..." Harry stammered, not even sure why he was trying to deny what Snape was saying. Habit, maybe. This was Snape, after all.

"Potter...," Snape exhaled deeply, lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. After a moment, he lifted his head once more and continued, "It is obvious that you've had a traumatic nightmare, and it was upsetting enough to cause you to drawl blood AND scream so loudly that you've barely a voice remaining. Do not insult my intelligence by claiming _It wasn't really that bad_."

"Sorry Professor. I just didn't want to... disturb you." Harry muttered. He sat back down on the settee, pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them in a futile attempt to calm his still shaking arms and legs. At his gesture, Snape got up from where he was sitting and crossed the sitting room to the kitchen. He returned a minute later with a steaming pot of tea, and two cups on a tray. After pouring himself and Harry each a cup, he handed Harry his tea and sank back down into the cushions once more. Harry placed the offering to his lips and was instantly soothed by the steamy, warm liquid.

"Thanks. I needed this." Harry said, feeling much calmer, "The tea is helping."

"How often do you have nightmares, Potter?"

"Oh... not very often. I guess I've just been stressed out because of everything that has..."

"DO NOT LIE TO ME!" Snape bellowed. His sudden ire took Harry aback, and he nearly dropped his cup. Snape again took a slow, steadying breath and proceeded, albeit a bit more calmly, "Potter, again, I must insist that you DO NOT insult my intelligence! You were obviously screaming your bloody head off, yet no one, including myself, heard you. It does not take a genius to come to the conclusion that you used a silencing charm before you went to sleep. Which, of course, would lead anyone with a REASONABLE amount of deductive skills to surmise that you are in the HABIT of performing silencing charms before bed. And if this is HABITUAL behavior, Mr. Potter, than it stands to reason that you have these nightmares OFTEN!"

Harry swallowed hard. He looked up into Snape's eyes, expecting to see fury in them after those seemingly angry remarks, and again was surprised to see a look of concern.

"Now... let's try this again. How often do you have these nightmares?"

"Every night."

"And I assume that since you are unable to use a silencing charm whilst in your relatives' care..."

"Yeah... well, um... my uncle usually unlocks my door just long enough to throw something at me to wake me up." Harry admitted, "I mean, he doesn't usually hit me for that..."

"Unlocks your door? As in... unlocks it from the _outside_?" Snape asked, voice low, strained with barely controlled anger.

"Uh... yes, they... uh... don't let me out unless they need me to cook or do chores."

Snape lowered his head again. He seemed to be trying to get control of his fury. He was twisting his hands together repeatedly and Harry could see a vein by Snape's temple pulse angrily. When he returned his gaze to Harry, his eyes seemed to emanate a tempered resolution.

"What was the dream about?" He inquired.

Harry was afraid of this. He really did not want to relive his dream again by retelling it. But... something about the way Snape was peering at him made him want to be truthful with him. This was not the same man who had taunted him about his poor potion-making ability. He was not the same man who had ruthlessly sneered at him for being as arrogant as his father. Too much had happened to both of them over the last two days. Things were... different now. As Harry considered his options, he looked directly into Snape's sable eyes. And in that moment he realized... he trusted this man.

"I don't want to tell you..." At these words, Snape pursed his lips in agitation, but Harry continued, " But... I will let you... see."

Snape stared deeply into Harry's emerald depths, and Harry recognized that Snape had understood.

"Are you... certain?"

"Yes. I... I trust you."

Snape released a long, tremulous breath, then picked up his wand from the coffee table and quietly vocalized the familiar incantation...

_"Legilimens!"_

**Sorry to end it here. There is actually a good bit more to this scene between Harry and Snape, but this chapter would have been WAY too long if I had kept going. It will pick back up in Chapter 9 with more Harry/Snape bonding... and a bit more "truth disclosure" as well! Lots of emotional stuff.**

**A BIG thank you to all those who have reviewed this story. I really appreciate you comments and encouragement.**

**A few people have asked... will this become Snarry? Sorry, guys, the answer is no. I wanted my first story to be a bit more "canon based," just to get my feet wet, so to speak. However, I am not opposed to writing Severitus or Snarry stories. And I plan on pursuing those challenges in my upcoming stories (Yes... there will be more).**

**Chapter 9 will be up in a couple of days. Please take some time to review! :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

If anyone would have woken up and witnessed the scene currently unfolding in the sitting room, they would have surely been confused, possibly alarmed. Snape stood with his wand directed at Harry, transfixed and staring into Harry's eyes with rapt concentration. Harry was only dimly cognizant of Snape's wand shuddering slightly as he muttered the words to the spell.

Harry's breathing once again became erratic, as he had no choice but to witness, along with Snape, his harrowing nightmare one again. It wasn't any less horrific the second time around, Harry thought, as he felt himself sway on his feet, feeling nauseous and unbalanced. When Snape withdrew from his mind, Harry sunk to the floor, shivering uncontrollably. He brought his hands up to cover his face and wasn't surprised to find his cheeks damp with tears that were still cascading from his burning eyes. At least he hadn't screamed this time.

After only a moment, however, a blanket was wrapped around his quivering shoulders and he was gently guided toward the settee. Harry gratefully sunk into its plush cushions and leaned his head back, closing his eyes in an attempt to ease his vertigo.

Neither spoke for some time. After several moments, Harry opened his eyes to peer at Snape, wondering what he was thinking. He was taken aback by the man's obvious distress. He looked as though Harry's dream had affected him quite as much as it had Harry. His features seemed to be twisted in an expression of torment, or sadness... or, no... heartbreak. It was a look he never imagined he would ever see on his dour Potions Professor's face. And it made his own despair deepen.

"That was... not exactly... what I expected," Snape said at last. His gaze lowered and his brow furrowed as he continued, "Do your nightmares always manifest in this way?"

"I.. I.. I don't know what you mean, Professor. You mean... with _him_?" Harry refrained from using Voldemort's self-proclaimed moniker, for he knew that Snape loathed its use. Harry did not wish to anger the man now that they seemed to be on better terms.

"The Dark Lord, yes. I assume it was he who was... taunting you."

"Well... yeah... he, uh... he's in most of my nightmares... has been ever since I can remember." Harry replied.

At this, Snape's eyes widened and he tilted his head in consternation. "Potter, the headmaster has informed me... rather recently... that you had no knowledge of The Dark Lord, or of the entire Wizarding World for that matter, until you received your Hogwarts letter when you were eleven. How is it that The Dark Lord has been featured in your nightmares... _ever since you can remember_?"

"Well, I didn't realize it was him when I was younger. I thought it was just some creepy, bad guy haunting my dreams. And he wasn't that vocal before... not until... well, not until the graveyard." Harry swallowed hard and looked down, feeling that familiar aching guilt that always accompanied thinking about that horrible night.

Snape took a long, tedious breath and held it. When he released it, he seemed somehow resigned to some sort of admission.

"I should have been there," He admitted in a soft whisper.

"Where?" Harry asked.

"The graveyard. I felt the mark burn. I knew what it meant. But you hadn't yet emerged from the maze and..." Snape paused, seemingly at war with himself.

"And... what?" Harry urged.

"I assumed, like Albus, that you were still in the maze. Albus told me that I should go to Dark Lord and report back to him. However, I wanted to be certain that you were... safe. I never imagined that you had been taken from the safety of the wards. My delay could have cost you..."

He stopped abruptly and silence weighed heavily between them.

"It was not you fault, Potter." Snape finally broke the reticence.

"I.. I know." Harry mumbled in a hushed voice.

"No... I don't think that you do. None one of their untimely demises is in any way your fault. Not Mr. Diggory... not Black... not the Headmaster... and most assuredly NOT you parents. Do you understand me, Mr. Potter? None of this... NONE of it... is your fault."

A lump in Harry's throat suddenly rendered him mute, and he was powerless to halt the onslaught of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He released a shaky, timid breath and blinked his eyes furiously, spilling the guilt-ridden drops onto his knees as he let his head fall. He had been told this before. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, Professor Dumbledore... they had all assured him that these deaths were not his burden to bare, that he was not to blame for their deaths. But their words had never affected him like this. They had never gotten to him. Never moved him. Snape's assertion of his innocence seemed to touch a place inside him that no one had ever been able to influence.

Once Harry gained a bit more control over his voice, he looked up into the dark eyes that were still gazing at him with a look permeating care and regard. He took a deep breath and chanced asking one of the many questions that he had yearned to ask since yesterday morning...

"Professor..." Harry began nervously, "Did... did you mean it?"

At Snape's confused look, Harry explained, "What you said yesterday... that... I'm like my mother?"

Snape immediately stiffened. His unease with this change of subject clear, as he lips tightened into a thin line and he shut his eyes to regain his composure. After a moment, however, his tension receded and he met Harry's apprehensive gaze with a resolute determination.

"Yes. I meant what I said." He stopped, hesitated, seemingly searching for the right words, "Potter... I have misjudged you. And I regret it. You are... nothing like your father."

Something in Harry's heart seemed to warm at the sincerity in the Professor's admittance. His words had inexplicably healed something inside of him that had previously been damaged, some long-forgotten suffering. Harry pressed on, eager now to know more about this revelation, to feel this new comfort.

"Can you... tell me about her? No one ever tells me about her. Please?" Harry pleaded, "All I know of her is what I saw... in your memory." His eyes snapped up to Snape's at the admission, convinced that he would see the familiar sneer of animosity after mentioning his invasion of Snape's privacy the year before. But there was not a trace of loathing. Snape simply looked as though he was lost in thought... or memory. The memory of her, Harry realized. His mother. And Harry was placated by the look of absolute adoration upon Snape's face as he continued to reminisce about her.

"I met your mother when we were both nine years old. The Evans' lived just down the street from me," Snape explained at Harry's bewildered expression.

"She was a truly talented witch, even at that age. When I finally gathered the courage to approach her, I told her she was a witch..." At this Snape's lips curled up at the ends in a genuine smile of amusement. Harry couldn't help but smile as well. He never thought he would ever see such an honest display of lightheartedness from Snape.

"... When I informed her of her talents, she became quite incensed and stormed off. I believe she thought I was insulting her." Harry chortled at the image that came to mind of his nine-year-old mother getting angry at being called a 'witch' by a total stranger.

"She eventually discerned that I was telling her the truth, and we became friends. Although Petunia was not overjoyed with this development," Snape added, a smirk of amusement firmly in place.

"What was she like in school? Was she... good at Defense or... or flying, like me?" Harry almost winced at his childlike question, but unabashedly carried on. He had never had this opportunity to know about his mother, and he yearned to feel some kind of connection with her.

Snape chuckled softly, but answered, "No. I don't believe I ever saw her on a broom beyond our flying lessons in first year. And she was decent in Defense, yes, but she was much better at Charms and Potions. Those were the subjects at which she was most adept. Top in our year at Potions."

"What? You weren't... I mean, she was better than..." Harry struggled not to aggravate Snape with his response, but was dumbfounded by this bit of news.

Snape laughed. Sincerely, heartily and genuinely laughed. Harry was astonished that this man before him, forbidding, angry, sour Professor Snape, could look and act so exceedingly unlike his norm while discussing his mother. Yes, Snape definitely loved his mother. Still loved her, Harry corrected himself.

"Yes... your mother bested me every year. It infuriated me to no end." Snape replied. His smile quickly disappeared however, and was replaced by an expression of deep focus.

"Potter, your mother was kind... almost to a fault. She could invariably perceive the good in people. All people, regardless of their past transgressions or mistakes. She was forgiving and warm. She was courageous, strong, honest. She was... the most beautiful person I have ever known," Snape finished his monologue softly, a mere whisper laced with regret and pain. He covered his face with his hands in a desperate show of despair.

Harry took a calming breath and plunged into the question he most wanted to ask, "You loved her, didn't you?"

Snape took his hands away from his face, meeting Harry's eyes in a fixed stare, and answered, unwavering, "Yes... very much. I... never stopped loving your mother."

Harry suddenly felt inexplicably angry at this confession. He balled up his fists tightly and felt his nails dig into his palms as something foreboding took hold of his heart. Rage seemed to overpower him, threatening to erupt at any moment.

"WHY?" He cried out, "WHY? Why did you NEVER tell me? You have treated me like absolute SHIT for years! You NEVER took the time to get to know me... And you thought I was like my father? Are you fucking kidding me? WHEN have you EVER seen me treat someone the way my father treated you? When have I ever acted arrogant? I grew up in a FUCKING CUPBOARD, for God's sake! I have never been shown any kindness... or care... or love..." Harry choked out the last word as he attempted to gain control of his breathing.

"All this time... ALL THIS TIME! You should have told me how much you loved her!" Harry struggled to find the right words. He was so irate that his whole body was shaking. "We could have been... we could have been friends... or..."

"Potter, I am a Death Eater... a spy for Dumbledore! I could not very well be a damn mentor for The-Boy-Who-Lived! It never would have worked!" Snape shouted.

"But, you loved her! You were her best friend! I should have been in your life! I should have been..."

"YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN **MY** **SON**!" Snape roared.

As Snape's final admission echoed through the sitting room, Snape abruptly turned away from Harry. Harry could see him once again bring his hands up to his face in an obvious gesture of agitation. His fingers were buried in his hair and Harry was reminded uncomfortably of yesterday when he was fighting the truth compulsion spell. Harry stood for several minutes staring at his professor's back. He was stunned at what Snape had just said to him. He felt as if his world was once again turned upside down. Could it be this simple? Could it be that Snape purposely kept his distance from him and had shown such loathing for him because deep down, he had wished that Harry had been _his_ son? _His_ and Lily's?

Harry, making his decision, slowly approached Snape. He thought about trying to comfort him... a hand on his shoulder, maybe? But... he didn't think Snape would allow the touch.

"P-Pro-Professor? I'm sorry... I didn't mean to upset you... I..."

Snape swiftly turned around. Harry could see tears welled up in his eyes. And his features taut with grief. When he spoke, his voice bore the burden of years of heartache.

"I have to tell you something." He whispered.

"OK... What is it?" Harry asked, wondering what he could possibly tell him that would be more significant than what he had already disclosed.

"Did the Headmaster ever tell you how the Dark Lord came to know of the prophecy?"

"Uh... well, he said that a Death Eater overhead Trelawny when she was telling it to him." Harry told him, a suffocating sense of foreboding beginning to take hold of him.

"And did he never mention who the Death Eater was that overheard the prophecy and relayed it to the Dark Lord?" He asked, softer now, voice shaking.

"No..." Harry answered. His heart pounding furiously, ringing in his ears. Harry had never before felt such trepidation, such fear. His heart seemed to be ripping from his chest. It... It couldn't be what he was fearing... it just couldn't be...

"Harry... I'm so sorry."

**Hooray! Another chapter done!**

**Thanks to all who have reviewed Chapter 8! I really appreciate it.**

**I'm pretty sure Chapter 10 will take me longer. At least a few days. So, stay tuned!**

**Please review! :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

The world ceased its spinning. The very air seemed to diminish into stasis, void of sentience. Harry felt the biting stabs of cold panic gripping him, relentless in their insistent penetration of his soul. His lungs were suddenly incapable of inspiring breath. Harry diverted his gaze from Snape's anguished mien, as he fought for control over this consuming dread.

It was Snape. All this time. It was Snape who had overheard the prophecy sixteen years ago... Snape who had revealed a fraction of fate's perilous truth to Voldemort, and with horrid irony, had unknowingly brought about the execution of the only woman he had ever loved. Harry's mother.

Harry grappled acutely with this encompassing torrent of emotions... trying to make sense of his feelings. He was livid. A searing rage churned inside him, poisoning him. He felt like the man had betrayed him, that he had betrayed her. How could he have done something like this? He had loved her! He still loved her! He must not have known to whom the prophecy had referred. But did that make his depravity any more tolerable?

As Harry struggled to understand his blinding fury, his rash proclivity surfaced and a reckless instinct whispered its impulsive solution... _This is all his fault. Your parents died because of him. Give into this hate, Harry. Don't fight it. Let it consume you. Let the fury seep into your soul. It will bring you power..._

"NO!" Harry screamed, "I won't... I WON'T!" His head suddenly seared with excruciating pain. The burning in his scar was pure agony. He dropped to his knees as he felt his awareness dim. Harry's final recollection before receding into darkness was the gentle caress of a cool hand on his pounding forehead and troubled ebony eyes, wide with fear.

- o -

"...makes no sense, Albus!"

Harry fought against the indistinct stretch between latency and volition. His brain felt hazy, like it was crammed with white noise, and he realized with embarrassment that he must have passed out from the pain. He was dimly aware that he was lying in a bed, most likely in the make-shift infirmary, Harry discerned, and he could just make out the sounds of hushed, anxious voices gradually infiltrating his foggy state. He arduously opened his eyes as the muffled argument intensified.

"Now, Severus, Harry had only just been given some very disturbing news. I think his reaction is quite understandable given the situation."

No, Albus, it is NOT understandable. I can comprehend a tremendous amount of anger and contempt directed at me for this... but... his SCAR, Albus! It was as if... as if he were being tortured! He was in agony, for God's sake!"

"Come now, Severus, you were already apprised of the connection he shares with Lord Voldemort. You know there are occasions, like the end of last term, when Voldemort can gain access into Harry's mind..."

"You NEVER informed me that these occurrences cause him this level of pain! This... this is considerably more than a mere connecting of minds that can be remedied by mastering Occlumency, Albus! Not to mention the utter improbability that the Dark Lord could even have access to him during this time stasis. It should not even be possible! There is something you are not telling me…"

"Ah, Harry! I see that you've returned to us!," the Headmaster announced in a demeanor that seemed altogether incongruous, as he directed his blue twinkling eyes toward Harry, "Tell me, my dear boy, how are you feeling? You had us all quite frightened, I'm afraid."

"I'm OK... I think." Harry replied huskily, throat still scratchy from his nightmare, "My head still aches a bit, but I guess I'm alright."

Harry looked away from the Headmaster and chanced a glance at Snape. He was staring determinedly at the floor, scowl etched deeply in place, apparently avoiding his scrutiny. As Harry studied the man in front of him, he recalled the gut-wrenching truth he had bestowed upon him. He remembered clearly the rage that had consumed him. He shivered as he thought about the potent voice inside his own mind that had enticed him to relinquish control and give in to the hate. And then the pain in his scar, even worse than the night Sirius died, excruciating, stabbing pain. It had felt like a knife slicing through his scalp.

"Well," Dumbledore declared while genially pressing his aged hands together, granting Harry yet another glimpse of the Headmaster's cursed injury, "I believe I will leave you two. Professor Snape wishes to evaluate your condition, Harry, and I must attend to three extremely worried young Gryffindors who await news pertaining to your recovery from last night's... ah... incident."

That said, the Headmaster turned abruptly from them and departed for the sitting room.

A burdensome silence arose. The tension was tangible. Snape approached Harry's bed and swiftly brandished his wand. He spoke not a word as he non-verbally performed his diagnostic spells. After his assessment was complete, he turned around and rummaged through the potions cabinet. He emerged a moment later, vial in hand, and offered Harry a pale blue potion.

"Drink this. It will help ease your pain. It is what I, myself, take following one the Dark Lord's more… savage Death Eater meetings" He instructed. Harry took the offered potion and drank it without hesitance as Snape continued his directive, "You are to stay in this bed for the rest of the day. You've been through quite a traumatic experience, and you need time to recover. I will be back shortly to bring you some lunch..."

"Lunch? Shit! Did I sleep through another day?" Harry questioned.

"Not an entire day, no. You've been unconscious since early this morning when you collapsed in the sitting room. It is one o'clock in the afternoon. I rather expected you to be out longer." Snape added offhandedly.

"Oh, well, I really don't want any lunch. Thanks, but I don't feel much like eating right now."

Snape took a deep breath and plunged into the patently neglected topic, "Potter... I know that I am the last person you would wish to speak to after... everything, but I believe we… need to discuss what happened."

Harry shut his eyes tight, pursed his lips and tried to focus. Anger was once again simmering within him, threatening to overwhelm his shaky restraint, and he struggled to control it. He DID want to discuss this. Harry needed to understand how Snape could have just handed the prophecy over to Voldemort without any regard to the destruction it would cause. He yearned to make some sense out of this cruel deception. Because the truth of the matter was that Harry had come to trust Snape and he was terrified of losing this newly acquired alliance. He had believed Snape when he had divulged to him only last night that he loved his mother. The man had unveiled his soul to Harry, finally removing his mask of impassivity. Harry could not have been mistaken... there was such remorse in Snape's eyes as he had confessed to Harry his greatest regret. Harry longed for confirmation... He needed to understand...

"Explain," Harry implored, voice quavering with poorly-constrained misgiving, "Please… explain."

Snape stared fixedly into emerald eyes so filled with apprehension and anxiety, yet a blatant desire for truth. He grasped a chair from the corner of the infirmary, positioned it alongside Harry's bed and sat down. He took a long moment to center himself, a single forlorn intake of breath, and then he began his tale.

"I was never as strong as you in my youth. When my father beat me and my mother disregarded my plight, too immersed in her own suffering at my father's hand, I eventually closed off completely. But inside, my rage was slowly destroying me."

Harry's eyes widened in disbelief as the gravity of Snape's admission sunk in. He had been physically abused at home too. A lump in Harry's throat formed as he recalled the memory he had witnessed during his brief stumble into Snape's mind last year. He remembered the image of a frail, raven-haired boy cowering in a dirty corner of a dilapidated room. Angry, heated screams fused with desperate pleas careened throughout the room, as the boy sat shivering, seemingly crawling inside himself in a futile attempt to remain hidden, to be safe. And he felt sickened when he realized that he knew EXACTLY what Snape was referring to… the need to disengage and the constant fury, brewing just below the surface….

"By the time I met your mother, I had grown into an angry, bitter child with little to no hope for reprieve from my suffering. I hated my family, my life, but primarily, I hated myself for feeling powerless to stop the abuse. But your mother took me into her heart and offered me something I had never had… hope. She was the first person to ever show me any kindness. Her love made possible my fortitude to persevere, to endure my father's brutality, all the while instilling a sense of promise that there could exist a brighter future for me. She saved my life… my very soul.

"Once we began Hogwarts, our friendship endured many hardships, the most obvious being our difference in house. It did not take me long to realize the grim intentions of many of my fellow Slytherins. Disdain for muggles and muggleborns was widely accepted among Slytherin house and the Dark Arts were openly practiced. I will not deny that my muggle father's abhorrent treatment of my mother and myself influenced me greatly. The temptation to join their ideology was strong.

"Your mother, however, never ceased believing in me. She persuaded me to see beyond the narrow-minded Slytherin mantra of hate. She urged me to deny their promise of a world bereft of muggle influence… a world in which a wizard could never again find himself suffering pain and humiliation at the hands of a muggle, as I had. And for my first few years at Hogwarts, I prevailed in this endeavor. I was successful in remaining neutral even among a house filled with pureblood zealots. But there was a cost. I was alienated, shunned by my housemates for my nonpartisan stance. And as a result, Lily remained my only friend in school. But as time went on, with your father and Black continuing their personal quest to belittle and demean me at every turn, the prolonged taunts from my fellow Slytherins for my less than ideal ethics and the continued violence at home, my resolve eventually began to weaken.

"The memory you saw in the pensieve marked a turning point in my life… one that I will deeply regret until my dying breath. The moment I called your mother that foul word under the duress of my acute embarrassment and wrath, I knew I had crossed a line with her. I pleaded with her afterwards to forgive me, but too much had changed. She recognized that I had already begun to immerse myself in the Dark Arts, to sympathize with my housemates' notion of muggle domination. And she had had enough. I believed, mistakenly, that I had lost her forever that day. I was very wrong. It was not her that was lost that day… it was a me.

"I spent the rest of my remaining Hogwarts years denying that she had ever meant anything to me. I concentrated all of my efforts on becoming adept in the Dark Arts, with the wholehearted support of my fellow Slytherins. I engrossed myself in what I considered the only support system left to me... among those ambitious Slytherins whose most fondest desire was to become a supporter of the Dark Lord. And indeed, not two months after I graduated, I willingly took the Dark Mark."

At this last declaration, Snape absentmindedly clutched his left forearm with his right hand, stroking it in what looked to be a familiar display of administering comfort. He took the time to breathe in deeply, as if to find the courage to continue, and began speaking once more.

"Over the next couple of years, I became aware that your mother and father had wed. It only strengthened my resolve to reject any feelings I had once harbored for your mother. I distanced myself as much as possible from her and focused on moving up in the Dark Lord's favor. For I, being a half-blood was at a distinct disadvantage among his ranks. And above all, I craved the power and control that came with being a member of his inner circle.

"When I entered the Hogs Head that day, it was on the Dark Lord's orders. He was giving me my shot at glory, or so I believed. He wanted me to apply for the position of Potions Master at Hogwarts so that I may be in a position to spy on Dumbledore for him. I was given intelligence that he was there meeting with another applicant for a job, and I was eager to make an appearance, to begin my deception in the Dark Lord's name. When I overheard the known seer foretelling a prophecy involving the Dark Lord, I jumped at the chance to increase my worth further by relaying that information to him."

Snape paused here. He hid his face in his hands, and Harry was certain that a muffled sob escaped him. When he uncovered his face, Harry could see that his eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

"I.. I... didn't even know Lily was with child. I NEVER would have... if.. if I had known..."

Snape choked on the last words and his voice shook with grief as he continued.

"As soon as I realized who the Dark Lord had targeted, I begged him to spare her. But... I knew... I knew that he would never honor my request. I knew he could never show that kind of mercy. I remember the absolute anguish of realizing that... that I had truly taken the wrong path. I.. I had denied the love in heart for... for so long! And her life and the lives those she loved were in danger... all because I had given in to my hatred, my pain, my disillusionment...

"I knew what I had to do. I sought out Dumbledore and pleaded with him to protect her... and you and your father... keep you safe. In return, I gave him my unwavering loyalty, for I was certain, from that point on, to which side I belonged. I knew that I did not deserve Lily's love or her forgiveness, but I would have done ANYTHING to amend my horrible mistake. And in the end... it was for naught. the Dark Lord discovered your location and..."

Snape's voice at last abated. And Harry saw his body convulse as he once again buried his face in his trembling hands.

When he finally emerged from his anguished lament, he fixed his ebony eyes, so overwhelmed with sorrow, upon Harry's similar watery gaze. He stared into the emerald eyes with conviction and offered one last pain-filled elegy.

"Potter... I swear to you... I have lived every day since that day in the Hogs Head with only one missive, to keep you safe... for her. I owe her... at least that... I..."

"Harry"

"What?" Snape inquired, perplexed at the interruption.

"Harry... you... you called me Harry last night," Harry answered resolutely as a lone tear spilled down his cheek, "And I would like it... very much... if you would continue to do so. I am not my father, remember? Lily... my mum... would want us to get past this. She would not want you to distance yourself from me... not anymore."

Snape stared at Harry in disbelief, but said nothing.

"Professor, I... I... forgive you."

Some resistance seemed to shatter inside Snape as a muffled wail escaped his lips and his tears broke free from their restraint. He lowered his head slightly, letting them fall unimpeded.

"And... I don't know if it will help to know this or not... but..." Harry added, and Snape lifted his head slightly, "...you saved my life that night."

"No... I... I didn't save you... your mother shielded you... sacrificed herself to try and keep you from harm." Snape explained.

"Yes, but... Voldemort DID give her the choice Professor. He told her that she could step aside, save herself, while he killed me. And she chose to give up her life so that I might live. It was only because of your request to spare her that she had that choice. And it was this choice that made it possible for my mum to decide to make that sacrifice. If you had not asked Voldemort to show her mercy, I would have died that night too. Your love for her... saved my life."

Snape lowered his head and sat in stunned silence for a long moment, breathing deeply. After the respite, he looked back up into Harry's eyes and, with a faint trace of a smile on his tear-streaked face, nodded, seemingly at a loss for words.

"And..." Harry proceeded, "...I think that whomever put us here, in this room, wants us to get past all of our hate... all the pain from our past... so that we can move on to a better future. My mum would have wanted that... don't you think?"

Snape's quiet smile increased at these words, as he replied, "Yes... I believe she would have... Harry."

**Sorry for the wait, but due to the emotionally intense nature of this chapter, it took me a little longer to complete. I sincerely hope you've enjoyed it!**

**ETA on Chapter 11 - mid next week. Have great weekend everyone! :)**

**Please review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

For the second time since his unexpected arrival in the Room of Requirement, Harry awoke from a deep, tranquil slumber. Truthfully, it had been one of the few peaceful sleeps he could recall having since his return from the graveyard at the end of fourth year. That horrifying night marked his introduction to the Dreamless Sleep Potion. It had certainly been successful on that occasion in knocking him out. Equally effective was his next experience with the draught only days ago… the night Snape had healed his fractured ribs. And Harry was quite certain it was this very same elixir that was responsible for this most recent repose.

Following Harry's heartfelt conversation with Professor Snape, the man had insisted that he at least eat some buttered toast and drink some tea in lieu of lunch. Harry barely remembered eating three bites of toast and downing about half of the darjeeling before detecting the incessant lure of drowsiness preside over him. His final memory before succumbing to the effects of said potion was the image of a triumphant smirk on one very smug Potions Master. Leave it to Snape to slip Dreamless Sleep into his tea. Sneaky as ever, Harry reflected as he fought the urge to smile.

And as he slowly lifted himself into a more vertical position atop the now very familiar infirmary bed, he realized just how desperately he had needed that rest. His injuries from his uncle's tantrum now felt completely healed, and he could no longer feel the persistent dull ache in his forehead. Even the soreness in his throat from screaming himself hoarse... _when was that? last night? two nights ago?_... had completely vanished. Just as Harry began to ponder how long he must have slept this time, Snape entered the room. His eyes fell upon Harry's immediately and his customary sneer found sanctuary in its usual spot.

"Ah yes… it seems our resident 'Sleeping Beauty' has opted to grace us all with his captivating presence once more." Snape articulated, yet his jibe lacked its habitual biting tone, and his jocular smirk remained firmly in place.

Harry mirrored Snape's simper with a playful leer of his own and responded, "Well, I'm pretty sure I would have been able to _grace you all with my captivating presence_ much earlier had a certain devious Potions Master not seen fit to drug me!"

Snape dropped his gaze from Harry's and cleared his throat. Harry had the impression Snape was striving to hide the amusement he found in their banter. When he lifted his head again, however, all hint of witticism had vacated, leaving a look of obvious unease in its absence. Snape sat down in the chair still positioned beside his bed, and folded his hands neatly in his lap. His dark eyes never left Harry's, and Harry was convinced that another difficult discussion was about to commence.

"Harry, I need to inquire about certain details regarding your collapse."

"OK... but before we get into anything deep here, what day IS it? I mean, I have absolutely no fucking idea..."

"Language, Po... Harry!" Snape growled, "You and I may have reached an understanding, but I am still your professor. Please refrain from utilizing any more of your rather... _colorful speech_... while I am in attendance. And before you sputter about in indignation... It is Tuesday. Eight-thirty AM to be precise. And… I apologize for administering the Dreamless Sleep without your knowledge, however, given recent events and the trauma your body has endured, I deemed it prudent."

"Professor... I'm not angry about the sleeping draught. Honestly. I just... well, I just hate always being the one that everything happens to," Harry confessed sheepishly. He hesitantly glanced up, half-expecting a scathing remark from Snape regarding attention-seeking stunts, fan clubs and famous scars, but none came. Snape simply bowed his head once in acknowledgment.

"Yes, you do have a rather impressive aptitude for finding yourself in mortal peril, don't you?" Snape admitted, "…a trait I have found quite irritating throughout the years, as it is usually I who must come to your aid. However, I do hope you possess enough insight to realize that you are not alone in this fight. You are fortunate to have a multitude of people in your life who care about you, all of whom are fervently disposed to assist you with the burdens you are faced with, to see you through your pain. And… I hope by now it has become exceedingly clear that… I am one of them."

Harry blinked to curtail the sudden sting in his eyes, as he searched the older man's face for a trace of derision. There was none. Only sincerity.

"Thank you, Professor. I… that means a lot to me." Harry spoke faintly, his voice strained with overwhelming gratitude. Only days ago, he loathed this man and now, Harry was astonished to find how much his support and concern meant to him.

"Now, if you don't mind, I would very much like to broach my previously mentioned topic. Your collapse. What do you remember of the moments preceding your blackout?" Snape asked.

Harry breathed in deeply to steady his mounting apprehension. He really did trust Snape... but it was still an arduous task to disclose some of his more terrifying truths. And Voldemort's sadistic voice in his head certainly qualified as such.

"Well, um... after you told me about the prophecy," Harry began, "I was... really angry."

"Understandable. Go on."

"I was trying to get control over my emotions and... well, you know I'm not very good at that," Harry added thinking back to their disastrous Occlumency lessons.

"Indeed. Continue."

"So, I was trying to manage the anger but... but he... he... interrupted me." Harry blurted out, not really certain how else to describe Voldemort's intrusion.

"The Dark Lord... gained access to your thoughts?"

"No... not exactly. He... it's more like he... accessed my emotions. In fact, that's when he usually talks to me, now that I think about it... when I'm really furious, or grieving, or fearful..."

"Do you mean to tell me that he actually _speaks_ to you?" Snape asked, wide-eyed and slightly paler than he had been a moment earlier.

"Well, yes... just like in that nightmare you saw, Professor. He always says things that he knows will torment me. This time he... went a bit further though..." Harry hesitated. He felt a cold chill creep up his spine as he recalled his own suffocating panic upon hearing Voldemort's hissing tone, "He was telling me that it was all your fault that my parents had died... that you were to blame and... that I should hate you. He said I should let my rage consume me. He told me that if I gave in to the hate, it would make me powerful."

Snape stayed silent for a few minutes. He directed his gaze at the floor, his head slightly lowered, as if absorbed in concentration. At long last his eyes steadily lifted to meet Harry's in a penetrating stare.

"You... you cried out... just before you clutched you forehead. Do you remember what you said?"

"_N-n-no_... I... I.. remember yelling _No_," Harry managed, voice now trembling.

"And you also said _I won't_," Snape finished for him, "Am I right in presuming the pain commenced immediately following your rejection of his attempt to sway you?"

"Yes."

Harry shut his eyes firmly, trying to breathe normally. He felt ashamed. He felt dirty. He hated that Voldemort could enter his mind, influence his feelings, alter his very perception. He suddenly became aware of the gentle pressure of a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see that Snape was staring into his eyes, concern evident in his candid expression.

"You drove him out, Harry. It's not exactly conventional Occlumency, but the outcome remains the same." At these words, a hint of contentment flashed across Snape's face and an unsure smile emerged, "All these years, Albus has insisted that your capacity to emote is your greatest strength, that your ability to love is your fiercest weapon. Yet I demanded emotional cessation from you in our Occlumency lessons in order to strengthen your resolve to banish him from your mind. I was a fool. And you are so much stronger than I ever gave you credit for. Stronger than even YOU realize."

Harry swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and tried to hold back his imminent tears.

"Thank you, Professor," he whispered.

It was all Harry could manage to vocalize. He wiped the dampness from his eyes with the palms of his hands as he fought to regain his composure. Snape took pity on him and, after removing his hand from Harry's shoulder, got up from his chair and turned to go. When he reached the door, his smirk returned in full.

"And Harry, do try and get through the entire day without... ah...spontaneously succumbing to fits of slumber."

"Git." Harry retorted as he struggled to suppress a laugh. He could have sworn her heard a low chortle as Snape swept out through the open door.

**Short chapter, I know. But don't fret, I posted 11 and 12 at the same time. And there are some big "truth-telling" moments coming up in chapter 12. :)**

**Please review. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Harry was never so pleased to be out of bed. He found it highly unsettling that his last few days here had been spent either in emotional turmoil, excruciating pain or in a drug-induced recuperative sleep. And it was this thought, more than any other, that motivated him to shower and dress hurriedly in anticipation at the prospect of having some much needed social interaction with his friends. Evidently his friends felt the same way, because Harry had barely pulled his t-shirt over his still-damp hair, when a knock reverberated throughout the small infirmary.

"Come in!" Harry called out, smiling in genuine elation upon spotting his fellow Gryffindors piling in through the narrow doorway. Hermione was the first to reach him, and she wasted no time assailing him with an impassioned embrace. She released him quickly and soon erupted into a litany of nervous inquests.

"Oh, Harry! We were so worried about you! How are you feeling? Of course, we wanted to come in and check on you yesterday afternoon when you finally woke up, but when Professor Snape come out from your room, he said that you had fallen asleep again and that we were not to disturb you. Have you been asleep this whole time? Are you sure you're OK, Harry?"

"Hermione, for the love of God, take a breath! And let Harry talk!" Ron interjected, clearly amused by his girlfriend's frenzied monologue. Harry fought to stifle a laugh when she parried Ron's response with a reproachful stance and a reprimanding glare that was strikingly reminiscent of Mrs. Weasley at her most intimidating.

"Ronald Weasley! You were just as worried about Harry as I was!"

"Well, yeah, I was. But you don't see me practically interrogating him, do you?"

"God, Harry, I can't tell you how happy I am to see that your doing better," Ginny added, "These two are driving me batty. I wasn't sure how much more I could take. I had somehow deluded myself into imagining that their CONSTANT BICKERING would stop now that they're together but apparently, I was wrong!"

"We don't bicker!" Hermione insisted, "We just… don't always see eye to eye, that's all."

Harry beamed as he watched his three friends continue their affable row. It was oddly comforting to see them argue over something as innocuous as who could be the most irritating in regards to their concern for him. And Harry couldn't help but be amused by their antics, yet still warmed by their show of devotion. Despite the imminent threat of an uncertain future, his friends continue to remain by his side. Snape was right, he really wasn't alone in any of this. His friends would always be there for him… and so would Snape. And this reminded him...

"Uh... guys? Were you... I mean, did you happen to see... or hear... any of the... um... incident the other night?" Harry nervously asked. His anxiety deepened when he noticed the onslaught of furtive glances shared between the three as their expressions plummeted rapidly into looks of obvious disquiet.

"Well..." Ron spoke up, effectively breaching the mounting tension, "...yeah, I mean, you and Snape weren't exactly whispering, were you?"

"Uggh..." Harry groaned and covered his face with his hands, "Shit. Why didn't I put up a silencing charm?" He berated himself for becoming so angry that night that it hadn't even occurred to him in the intensity of the moment. Of course the others would have woken up and heard their heated discussion.

"OK, so... how much did you hear?" Harry asked.

"When I got into the sitting room to see what the hell all the shouting was about, well... all I really heard was Snape saying that..." Ron hesitated and glanced at Hermione for help.

"We didn't really hear much, Harry..." she amended, "...just Snape yelling something about how you were supposed to be... his son."

She finished uncertainly, eyes averting his and her voice barely more than a whisper.

"After that, Mate, Dumbledore came charging out of his room and placed a silencing charm on you two. We really didn't hear anything after that." Ron supplied.

"But... then we saw you grab your head and fall to the ground. We couldn't hear you, but we could tell that you were... screaming." Ginny muttered softly. Her voice quavered in fear and Harry grasped her shaking hand to soothe her. "Harry, please tell me you're really alright..." she choked out.

Harry tugged lightly on her small hand, still entwined with his own, drawing Ginny's trembling body into his and engulfing her in a consoling hug. She rested her soft cheek against his and pressed her lips to the shell of his ear. Harry shivered slightly at the feel of her warm breath caressing his skin as she spoke in a hushed undertone, "I was so worried, Harry."

Harry gently wove the tips of his fingers through her long hair as his heart seemed to skip several beats. He gradually let his eyelids fall as he breathed in her flowery scent. All thoughts of comforting the little sister of his best mate melted away when her soft lips feathered a faint kiss along his jaw.

"A-hem!" Ron's throat-clearing, unnaturally loud, wrenched Harry from his euphoric reverie, and he quickly distanced himself from Ginny. He could feel his face flush with heat where her lips had just caressed his skin and he wondered if he could possibly die from embarrassment.

"Ron, what the hell?" Ginny chided, "Harry was just comforting me!"

"It looked a damn bit more than just _comforting_ to me, Ginny!"

"Oh get over it, both of you. We have more important things to discuss than Harry's methods of consolation!" Hermione chastised. She turned her back on the fuming siblings and redirected her attention toward Harry's still-flushed countenance. "Harry... weren't you about to tell us what you and the Professor were arguing about?"

Harry wasn't certain if he should be relieved at the change of subject or not. Both topics were difficult, at best, to discuss. But since he had no idea how to even find words to describe what had just occurred with Ginny, he opted to plunge into the explanation of what had occurred the other night.

"Uh... right. Well, I couldn't sleep, so I went into the sitting room to... um... read or something," Harry realized it must be blatantly obvious that he was being a bit dishonest in recounting the details, but he had little desire to see his friends' worried expressions upon discovering he had a nightmare so severe that he had nearly bitten through his lip.

"Anyway, Snape was there and we started talking about my mum. You were right, Ron. He was in love with her... never stopped loving her, actually."

At this disclosure, Hermione bowed her head slightly, her brow furrowed in concentration, "That... makes sense," she mused, "I've often wondered why he's always been so hard on you. He must have seen you as a constant reminder of…"

"…what should have been, yes. That's why he shouted what he did. I guess I've always been a kind of symbol of his failure with the only woman he'd ever loved. Anyway, our conversation started out well enough. We were talking about my mum, and everything was good for a while. But then... I don't know. I just got so angry at him for... for never telling me any of this before. For... for always being so damn awful to me." Harry paused here, hesitant to divulge the rest of the conversation. He was not confident his friends would be accepting of Snape once they found out what he had done.

"After he told me that... I should have been... his son, I... I felt really horrible. I mean, I guess I just suddenly realized how much pain he was in. I was just about to apologize to him when he told me..." Harry's voice momentarily failed him. He took a slow breathe and released it, determined to tell them everything.

"That's when he told me that it was him... that he was the one who overheard the prophecy and reported back to Volde-"

"WHAT?"

Harry wasn't sure who had interrupted him. All of them, maybe.

"That BASTARD! That EVIL piece of..."

"Ron, just shut up for a minute! Let me finish!" Harry just managed to impede Ron's tirade, as Hermione steadied him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Listen, all of you, I was just as angry at Snape as you are… more so, actually. You saw me, right? Even if you didn't hear what was being said, you saw me. I was beyond furious. I think it's probably the most anger I have ever felt. And then... well, that's when Voldemort invaded my mind."

Everyone remained silent, apprehensively anticipating his next words. Harry scanned their shocked visages, their panicked eyes dilated in fear. He hated this. Hated their terrified expressions directed at him.

"Look, please... please don't ask me any more about that. Voldemort was just sort of drawn in by my anger. And then I guess I… passed out from the pain."

"Harry?" Hermione's timid question broke the stagnate hush, "Professor Snape was so worried about you. He picked you up after you collapsed and carried you to the infirmary. And he stayed with you that whole night, Harry. He really cares for you, despite your past animosity. Have you... have you forgiven him?"

He looked into her warm, chestnut eyes and was instantly calmed by the compassion he found in their depths. He redirected his gaze to glance at Ginny, then at Ron. And his tension resolved into gratitude. He knew they would accept his decision.

"Yes. And I don't regret it. Listen, you guys don't know what it's like to be responsible for the death of someone you love. It's like... it's like you've killed something inside yourself too. I know what that feels like, OK? I know how suffocating that guilt can be. And I won't let him go through that anymore... not alone… not if I can help it."

"Harry, you are not to blame for Sirius' death!"

"I know, Ron. I do, but... his death was a direct result of my actions that night. Just as my parents' deaths were the result of Snape's. He lives with his guilt every day. I know what that feels like, and I will not add to his pain any longer. I'm glad I forgave him. I trust him and... I want him in my life. My mum would have wanted that." Harry finished quietly, wondering if he had said too much. His was suddenly aware that his breathing was quite shallow and his heart was racing. He nervously chanced a glance at his friends, trying to gauge their reactions.

Hermione crossed the room swiftly and closed her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. When she released him, he noticed that Ginny and Ron had approached him as well, standing on either side of him. They didn't exactly radiate the glow of acceptance that Hermione did, but Harry took comfort in their silent acquiescence nevertheless.

"Thanks... for not freaking out too much," Harry added, smiling in relief.

"You don't exactly make it easy, Mate! Next you'll be telling us that Malfoy's your new best friend!" Ron replied jovially, "Hey, why don't we go play chess or something? My brain needs a break from all this damn drama."

"Yeah, OK," Harry answered with a appreciative grin, "But let me grab some food from the kitchen first. I'll meet you guys in the sitting room."

While his friends busied themselves with the question of who was playing whom in wizard's chess, Harry veered off toward the kitchen. His stomach ached with hunger, reminding him that it had been quite some time since he had properly eaten. Dinner Sunday night, he recalled. That was the last meal he remembered eating. Of course he had no doubt Snape was probably pumping nutritive potions into him while he slept. But it really wasn't a very satisfactory substitute for real food.

As soon as he entered the small kitchen, Harry was welcomed by the twinkling blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore peering over the top of a rather large frayed and ancient-looking book. He only had a brief glimpse of the faded book cover, but managed to read the title, _Soul Magic: Dark And Light_, before the Headmaster swiftly snapped the book closed and placed it atop a huge stack of similar tomes towering just behind him. Harry had a hunch the Headmaster sought to divert his attention away from what he was reading as the old wizard smiled genially in greeting.

"Harry! It's wonderful to see you up and about, my boy. How are you feeling?" Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he noticed the Headmaster's gaze flicker up to his scar, then immediately back down, the action so swift, he wasn't certain if he'd imagined it or not.

"Fine, Headmaster. I'm feeling much better. Thank you," He answered, "I just came in to find something to eat."

"There are sandwiches in the refrigerator, Harry." Snape's deep baritone timbre made its way into the kitchen, followed shortly by the man himself, "I assumed hunger would be your primary objective once you finally decided to..."

"...grace you with my presence. Right. Thank you, Sir." Harry interjected, smiling cheekily at the man.

Harry was awarded with a rare smile from the Potion Master in response, but it vanished quickly, only to be replaced by a deep scowl. Snape seemed to be staring at something behind Harry. He whirled around quickly to investigate the source of Snape's ire and, again, saw Dumbledore concealed behind the same book as earlier.

"Harry... would you excuse us? The Headmaster and I... need a moment." Snape's livid features grew more taut as he spoke. His normally pale skin turning the color of puce. Harry had seen this level of fury on Snape's face before, but it had always been directed at him in the past, and Harry suddenly worried for the Headmaster's safety.

"Uh... yeah, sure." Harry muttered, while quickly backing out of the kitchen.

He got as far as the open doorway when he saw Snape pull out his wand and perform a silencing spell. Harry stood there, transfixed, unwilling to remove himself fully from the scene unfolding before his eyes. He watched as an argument ensued. He flinched as Snape snatched the book from Dumbledore's grasp and slammed it down on the table. No clamor could be heard, but Harry was certain Snape was yelling at the Headmaster, if his incensed expression was anything to go by. Snape charged over to the lofty pile of books behind the Headmaster and, one by one, skimmed their contents before angrily throwing each aside. After a tense moment when it looked as though Snape had ended his condemnation, he slowly lifted his wand and directed it at Dumbledore's widening, fearful eyes. Harry's unease multiplied as Dumbledore's shaky hands were raised in a desperate gesture of placation.

Oh God, Harry thought. He's... he's going to...

_"Finite Incantatem!"_ Harry screamed, canceling the silencing charm just in time to hear Snape shout the now well-known incantation...

_"Magnis Veritatem!"_

The Headmaster swayed where he stood, clutching the edge of the table for support. Harry rushed to help him. He was suddenly aware that Ron, Ginny and Hermione had joined him. Ron helped him steady the Headmaster while Ginny eased him back into his chair. The aged wizard was shaking uncontrollably, taking rapid, shallow breaths.

"Professor! How could you do this to him? He's not well!" Hermione shrieked.

Harry wrested his focus from the trembling man to look at Snape. He was staring at Harry with that now familiar look of concern in his eyes. But this time, Harry was not calmed by it. A creeping sense of dread took hold of his heart as he realized Snape was attempting to uncover something important... something about him. After divining Harry's understanding, Snape turned away from him and trained his eyes upon the Headmaster once more.

"What do you know? You've been researching soul splitting and immortal magic! What are you hiding, Albus!" Snape bellowed.

Harry's eyes widened in fear. Soul splitting? He seized the four books still lying abandoned on the table and scanned their covers.

_Soul Magic: Dark And Light_

_Blood Protection_

_Ancient Secrets Of Sacrifice_

_Immortality: Sorcery Of Soul Splitting_

A renewed wave of foreboding washed through him. Immortality? Blood Protection? Sacrifice? This had something to do with Voldemort... and him. He approached Snape still clutching _Immortality: Sorcery Of Soul Splitting_ in his shaking hand. Harry took a deep breath, looked down at the frail form of the Headmaster, and found his voice.

"Did... did Voldemort split his soul?"

He noticed, just on the edge of his vision, Snape glance down at the book in his tight grip, then, fleetingly, up at his scar. Harry shut his eyes tightly against the sickening panic threatening to overwhelm him. At the Headmaster's labored voice, Harry opened his eyes again.

"Tom Riddle wished to be indestructible, immortal... He..." Dumbledore gasped, obviously still struggling against the spell, "YES... yes... he... split his soul... horcruxes... to ensure that he could not die."

"Horcruxes? As in... more than one?" Snape asked, eyes impossibly wide, "How many? HOW MANY, ALBUS?"

"I... I... honestly do not know. But... it is more than two... two have already been destroyed. The diary... Riddle's diary..."

Ginny gasped and covered her mouth with a quivering hand. Harry immediately put his arms around her and held her tightly. She buried her face into his neck, suppressing a muted cry.

"And... the ring... Voldemort's grandfather's ring." Dumbledore whispered while holding up his trembling, blackened hand.

"That ring contained a piece of the Dark Lord's soul?" Snape's eyebrows shot up, as his eyes fixed upon the glint of gold reflecting off the seemingly benign metal band adorning the Headmaster's finger.

"Yes... and with it, a powerful, lethal curse. I... I should not have put it on. But... I only wished to see her again... to tell her how... how sorry I am... Ariana..." Dumbledore's voice trailed of into anguished sobs and Hermione was once again by his side.

"Professor, please... may I take him to his room? I don't think he can endure much more," she whimpered.

Hermione's plea seemed to snap Snape out of his astonishment. "Yes... yes... Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley please escort the Headmaster to his room.

Ron and Hermione eased Dumbledore from his chair and shouldered his weight, as he staggered and leaned on them. Even after they had exited the kitchen, Harry could still hear the elderly man whimpering incoherently. His heart clenched painfully at his weeping.

Snape, seemingly in shock, faltered slightly in his steps as he followed them, abandoning his usual intimidating gait. He strode over to the sitting room and stared, unseeing, into the spirited flames coiling in the hearth. Harry mimicked his movement without thought, beckoning Ginny to follow him with a gentle squeeze of his hand still in hers. There was an oppressive, mournful quietude pressing in on them, like a somber presage of suffering.

"Professor?" Harry spoke, softly, tentatively, "So... a horcrux is a piece of someone's soul?"

"Yes." Snape responded quietly, still gazing into the glowing embers.

"And... Voldemort made _more_ than the two that have already been destroyed?"

Snape nodded.

"So he..."

"...cannot be killed until they are all... eliminated."

Harry noticed that Snape's voice shuddered as he spoke the last word and he clamped his eyes shut forcefully. The muscle above Snape's left eye was twitching again, the same muscle that Harry had seen twitching only days ago at breakfast when they were discussing the Headmaster's cursed hand.

"How the hell are we supposed to find out how many horcruxes he made if the Headmaster doesn't even know?" Harry blurted out in frustration. He searched Snape's face for some kind of answer, a clue to what this new information would mean to them now, but Snape's eyes remained closed. He gazed at Ginny who looked pale and frightened. Hermione and Ron had returned from the Headmaster's room now and were huddled together on the settee. They appeared to be as lost and shaken as Ginny.

The tension was splintered by a blinding blue light emitting from the long-forgotten parchment on the table. Harry lunged toward it, clutching in tightly in his trembling fist.

"What does it say?" Hermione asked, a fearful edge to her voice.

Harry steadied his hand, smoothed out the scroll, and read the addition.

_Voldemort split his soul into eight pieces - seven exist as horcruxes and the eighth remains in his body. This war will only end when all eight have been destroyed._

"Oh God... eight?"

**Yay! More truth! :)**

**I would really love to hear what you all think of my story so far. So, please review! **

**Not sure when Chapter 13 will be ready, maybe by the end of next week.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Eight. There were eight pieces of Voldemort's soul. Harry shook his head in a sporadic meter, disbelief clouding all thought. His shock was nearly strangling him, causing him to draw in huge gulps of air that quickly diminished into desperate, superficial gasps. Oh God, Harry anguished... No. It can't be. It just... can't be. Eight? How the fuck am I supposed to to do this? How can I...?

"But Harry," Hermione offered, interrupting his escalating panic, "He only really made seven horcruxes, not eight... actually five now, since the ring and the diary have been destroyed... and the final piece... the eighth is... is V-V-Voldemort. So, we only have to eliminate five of them." Hermione's eyes deepened their vitreous gaze upon Harry's, urging him to understand... there was still hope.

Harry dropped his focus to the dusty floor. How many times over the last few days has he stared at it, eyes bereft of sight? OK, he thought, eight. No... five. Hermione was right. Only five fragments of evil to conquer... somehow.

"But... they could be ANYTHING!" Harry shouted in frustration, "How can we even begin to figure out what they are? They could be... I don't know... some discarded butterbeer cork... or a damn shoe or something!"

Hermione swiftly abandoned the comfort of Ron's embrace and crossed the room to sit beside him. "No, Harry. I don't think so. Think about the two that we know about. The diary and the ring must have had great significance to him. Look, we know that the diary's entire purpose was to bring about the reopening of the Chamber of Secrets, to continue Salazar Slytherin's prejudiced vendetta against muggleborns, and the ring... well, I'm not sure about the ring... but didn't Professor Dumbledore say that it belonged to You-Know-Who's grandfather? It must have been quite meaningful to him. Both of these objects speak of his heritage... his birthright, if you will. Don't you see? These objects he chose to make into horcruxes... they aren't random. They are significant. Significant to him."

As Harry contemplated her words, he tentatively traversed the room and stopped just short of the hearth, seeking refuge beside the Potions Master. Snape had yet to stir from his trance-like inertia, still abjectly staring into the crackling, hissing blaze. His eyes appeared stripped of emotion, dead somehow, as he watched the ebb and flow of the feral flames. Harry could see a flicker of the flames' reflective luminance glinting from within the obsidian depths, providing animation in the wake of sentiment's void.

"Sir? Do you have any idea what the remaining five could be?"

From Harry's close proximity, he could easily discern Snape stiffening in response to his query. He watched as his professor blinked away his beguilement and let out a sheltered breath gradually. After a long moment, Snape turned to face Harry, his steadfast demeanor once again in place.

"No. However... I have my suspicions concerning _where_ one might be."

"Where?" Harry asked eagerly.

"Bellatrix Lestrange's vault at Gringotts." He replied. When confronted by four puzzled expressions, however, he elaborated, "Shortly following the recent mass breakout from Azkaban, the Dark Lord became extremely persistent in acquiring certain details regarding the amount of security each member of his inner circle possessed for their personal valuables. I, myself, was interrogated regarding the Prince family vault and the level of protection it provided. I can only assume he was not overly pleased with its indemnity, for his questioning ceased rather promptly upon learning it only resided within Gringotts' second underground echelon and not in one of their lower-level, high-security vaults."

"So... you think he was trying to find a secure place to hide a horcrux?" Hermione questioned, "But, why do you assume that he chose the Lestrange's vault?"

At her second inquiry, Snape's lip curled nastily and his normally stoic features twisted into a striking display of utmost repugnance. "Bellatrix becomes quite ecstatic in any instance where the Dark Lord favors her beyond the other Death Eaters. She cannot seem to remain reticent under such conditions. Of course, she is not daft enough to reveal that her beloved Master chose her vault to hide the abstruse entity, but she took great joy in flaunting her... ah... _value_ to him not soon after the Dark Lord's inquisition."

"But... OK... let's say you're right and there is a horcrux in her vault. How the hell am I supposed to get in there to destroy the thing?" Harry beseeched, voice rising now with the return of his anxiety, "And if I AM successful in getting in there, I won't even know what the fuck I'm looking for... OR how to destroy it!"

Harry was conscious of the fact that he was losing control, panic nearly overpowering his ability to reason. He forcibly scraped his fingernails through his untamed hair, palms pressing harshly on his eyelids and forehead, spreading the beads of perspiration through strands of raven locks. He kept his eyelids closed and worked sedulously to steady his breathing. He couldn't relinquish control... not again. He would not allow Voldemort access to his spiraling fear.

"Miss Weasley, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger... would you three please allow us some privacy? Harry and I need to discuss this alone."

"Uh... yeah. Sure, Professor." Ron supplied.

Harry kept his eyes securely shut and focused on breathing as he caught the resonance of scurrying, hurried footsteps slowly fading away. The next moment, he was surprised to feel the light touch of cool fingers circling his wrists. Instantly, Harry's shaking hands, still fisted around clumps of dampened hair, loosened their grip, allowing the gentle persuasion. Harry opened his eyes and glanced up into the solicitous visage of his professor who had not yet released his trembling hands.

"Listen to me, Harry. This is not, and will NEVER be, your burden to bear alone. Do you hear me? I will NOT let you take this on by yourself. Whomever put us here, in this room, did so in order to convince us to WORK TOGETHER to bring about the demise of the Dark Lord. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let you shoulder this responsibility!"

"But... the prophecy..."

"The prophecy only states that you have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord... not that you must be unaided in this endeavor!"

"Professor, I appreciate all that you're saying... what you're trying to do... but it has to be me! I'm the one that has to kill him! Either that... or... or he will end up killing m-"

"NO!" Snape roared, face pallid with terror. Coal-black, anguished eyes pierced his own vivid green ones moistened with barley confined tears. Harry was paralyzed by the look Snape was giving him. He had only ever seen an expression like this directed at him once before... Sirius... the night of the third task, just after returning form the graveyard. There was such fear in his eyes, fear of having almost lost Harry. It was the kind of expression you would expect to see upon a parent's face who had just been informed that his child was dying. It had startled Harry that anyone could look at him like that, even his own Godfather. And now... and now Snape was mirroring that same fearful, loving expression.

Harry had barely noticed that his wrists were liberated from the confines of Snape's insistent grip, when the gentle hands were now gripping his shoulders.

"NO! No... you are not... I don't give a DAMN what is foretold in the blasted prophecy! Do you understand me? You are NOT GOING TO DIE! I will NEVER let that happen! Not now that I..."

His voice trailed off into silence, but he continued his penetrating stare. Harry noticed a tremor in the man's lower lip as he withdrew his left hand from its vice-like grip on Harry's shoulder. Cautiously, he placed it on Harry's now tear-streaked cheek and repeated his earlier promise in a scarcely audible whisper. "You... you are not going to die, Harry."

Harry nodded as a tear broke free, gliding effortlessly along his heated skin and onto the potion-stained fingers still adorning his cheek. And as another threatened to fall, Snape wiped it away with a tender graze of his calloused thumb, eyes never leaving Harry's.

"I couldn't stop him from taking your mother, Harry... but I will NEVER let him take you from me. Never."

Something inside Harry, ignored and buried for years, some long-forgotten need for acceptance, burst free from its captivity when he felt the Professor's strong arms embrace him. He willingly let go... gave in to this warmth... this compassion... this promise. He yearned for this protective love, so paternal in its nature. It soothed an ache inside his heart that he hadn't felt since those dark, frightening nights alone in his cupboard when he was just a small boy.

And all at once, his thoughts seemed to stall and fixate on the memory of being locked inside that secluded cupboard, and the crushing fear and despair from those moments, so long ago, seemed to grab hold of him, consume him, devour him. An anguished sob erupted from deep within him, muffled slightly by the heavy fabric of Snape's robes, as he desperately clung to the man. Snape said nothing, but held him tightly as Harry continued to whimper, each vulnerable cry seemed to palliate another lonely, unloved moment from his childhood, each choked lament purging one more sorrow from the pain of blatant neglect.

Harry had no idea how long they stood there like that, but he soon became startled to find himself sitting on one of the settees, leaning his head back against the plush cushions as Snape held a cool, damp flannel to his forehead.

"I... I didn't pass out again, did I?" Harry mumbled, struggling to clear his muddled senses.

"No. You've only been in a torpid state for the last few minutes or so. I believe the cool compress on your forehead is helping to draw your mind from its dormancy. Here..." Snape removed the flannel from his heated skin and pulled out his wand. With a cursory flick, he conjured a tall glass of water. "Drink this. It will help."

Harry accepted the proffered glass and gratefully drank the cool liquid in large gulps. When Snape had taken it back from him, Harry's blurred edges of perception sharpened further.

"Dormancy? What does that mean? Was I... asleep... or..."

"Harry... " Snape began, as he carted his fingers through his own hair in a nervous display. "I apologize. I may have... inadvertently pushed you too far in my disclosure. I... had not meant to cause you to have an episode."

"An episode? Did... did I... did Voldemort...?"

"No. You misunderstand. This has nothing to do with the Dark Lord. Harry... you just experienced a brief bout of disassociation. My words to you must have triggered... a blank out."

At this explanation, Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. A blank out? What did that even mean?

"Sir... I... don't understand."

Snape took a deep breath and brought his hand forward to rest on Harry's forearm. He gave it a gentle squeeze before shifting his focus back onto Harry's bewildered features.

"Harry, you have suffered a great deal more than most young people your age. You have endured severe trauma. And much like a Master Occlumens, who can conceal certain private thoughts within the dark recesses of his mind, your mind's solution to this trauma is to bury those painful feelings. The human mind is quite proficient at stowing away distressing emotions which it deems too harrowing to acknowledge. It is a defense mechanism that works by shielding you from the buried pain and long-forgotten misery from your childhood. Our conversation moments ago undoubtedly provoked the emergence of at least a portion of these emotions. Once these feelings were released, your anxiety escalated, and your brain defended itself in the only way left to it... by temporarily shutting down... essentially causing separation between your consciousness, identity and behavior. This is known as a blank out."

Harry slowly nodded in understanding, but soon, his bafflement returned as he pondered the concept of hidden feelings buried within his own mind.

"But... if I have successfully blocked out these negative feelings... why am I rubbish at Occlumency? You said it was similar."

"It is similar, yes. However, in order to perform Occlumency properly, one must strip one's thoughts of all the emotion surrounding it, essentially bury the memories in isolation, devoid of the emotions previously linked to them. Your memories are deeply interwoven with your emotions. Your mind refuses to detach the emotion from the memory and, as a result, locks them away together. Over time, Harry, this can cause damage to you subconscious, as well as your emotional health."

"Oh..." Harry replied lamely, not knowing what else to say in response to this revelation. He felt embarrassed by his recent breakdown and even more humiliated by this... blank out. He looked away from the professor's penetrating gaze and down at his hand, still clutching his arm in a clear gesture of solace.

"It might take time, Harry, but if you are willing to accept my help... I could assist you in accessing your buried memories and the pain associated with them. I would understand, of course, if I am not someone whom you feel you can trust with the trauma from your childhood, but..."

"Yes. Please... I would like your help. And I DO trust you, Professor. I told you that the other night. When should we... uh... start?"

Snape allowed a diminutive grin at Harry's obvious dissension between apprehension and enthusiasm, but answered him, "Perhaps it can wait until we are released from our current quarantine."

At Harry's nod of acquiescence, Snape ascended from his seat at Harry's side and headed for the kitchen. Upon his return, he was carrying a tray laden with sandwiches and chocolate biscuits, along with a pot of steaming hot tea. Harry's hunger, previously ignored in the aftermath of the Headmaster's forced admission, once more became prominent.

"Harry, I will alert your friends that our discussion has ended and that lunch is available in the sitting room. Please do not dwell on this event for now. We will have time to work on your emotional regression later. Our priorities now should lie with the discovery of the what the remaining horcruxes are and where they may be found. I must tend to the Headmaster, although, admittedly... he may not be exactly overjoyed with my company." Snape added with a wily smirk, "However, he must be looked after. He will need his strength for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Harry asked, "What's tomorrow, Professor?"

"His day of veracity." Snape declared ominously. "Eat, Harry. I will summon your friends."

- o -

Harry had already devoured two sandwiches by the time Ron, Hermione and Ginny re-entered the sitting room. Ron enthusiastically joined the feast, grabbing a fistful of chocolate biscuits with one hand while pouring himself a cup of tea with the other.

"Thank God, I'm starving!" was the last of Ron's discernible utterances as he proceeded to shove the entire chocolate stash into his mouth, "Ay hauck ee ood evr iinisch!'

"Ronald, must you talk with your mouth overflowing like that? It's disgusting, not to mention rude!" Hermione chastised.

"Harry, are you alright?" Ginny asked, ignoring her brother's abysmal manners, concentrating instead on inspecting Harry's condition, "You look a bit... unwell."

"I'm OK Ginny. Snape and I just had a... difficult conversation. But everything's fine now. Really." He placated, smiling slightly to appease her look of lingering doubt.

"So... what did Snape have to say this time?" Ron asked after swallowing hard to clear the remains of the hastily crammed lunch from his throat. Grinning broadly at Ron's familiar lunchtime ritual, Harry offered a somewhat truncated explanation to his friends.

"Professor Snape just wanted me to understand that it's not entirely my responsibility to destroy all the horcruxes... that I don't have to do it all alone. He told me that he would be there to help me." Harry summarized.

"Harry! How could you possibly assume that this is something you need to do alone?" Hermione exclaimed, "We will be with you too. We'll all be there to help you!"

"I guess I thought... since the prophecy..."

"Screw the prophecy, Mate. We would never let you go hunting horcruxes without us!" Ron fervently added.

"But all of this is too dangerous! You know what happened to the Headmaster with that ring... and what could have happened to Ginny with the diary! I can't permit you all to risk your lives for me!"

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!" scolded an irate Ginny. She grabbed him by the shoulders, turning him forcibly to look directly into her incensed brown eyes. "I have had enough of this from you! If it were one of us, instead of you, that was affected by this prophecy, would you just sit back and watch as one of us set out to hunt horcruxes alone? Would you just abandon one of your friends, allow them to confront You-Know-Who without your help?"

"No! I would never..."

"Well of course not, Harry, because you love us! Because you would never abandon us! Never, no matter what the personal risk! Right?" she continued, "Harry...we LOVE you. Don't you understand? The way you feel about us... that's how WE feel about YOU!"

Harry scanned her fiery visage, filled with passion, radiating a fierce loyalty and was suddenly reminded of the words Snape spoke to him earlier that morning...

_You are fortunate to have a multitude of people in your life who care about you, all of whom are fervently disposed to assist you with the burdens you are faced with, to see you through your pain._

"Harry," Hermione asserted, "We were all put in this room for a reason, remember? We...Ginny, Ron and I... we were put here... for you. Don't you see? We're ALL a part of this fight. Harry... you don't always have to be alone. Don't shut us out. Please."

Harry was so touched by his friends' ardent supplication that he could do nothing but nod in their direction. Seemingly out of nowhere, he was being hugged. Hermione and Ginny lunged at him with eager embraces, while Ron stood beside him with his hand on Harry's shoulder in a silent show of devotion and friendship.

"Thanks guys. I will try to depend on you... to ask you for help when I need it. It's just... new to me. But I will try. I really do love you." Harry added, finishing quietly, nervous at the admission.

"We love you too, Harry," Ginny whispered in response, cheeks tinged with pink and eyes slightly averting his.

Harry attempted to ignore the sudden rising heat in his reddening face and the constricting tightness in his chest, that had nothing to do with prophecies and Dark Lords, as he grabbed a third sandwich and stuffed it into his mouth in a passable imitation of Ron.

They ate in amiable silence for a while. Ginny seemed to be distracting herself from her earlier display of shyness by making a fresh pot of tea and then pouring everyone third and fourth helpings of the steaming drink. When they were all well sated from lunch, it was Ginny who embarked upon a new, but equally tense topic.

"How do you think the Headmaster is doing? I hope he'll be alright. He just seemed so... weak... and broken... when you two helped him back to his room this morning."

"Yes. It was really difficult to see him like that," Hermione replied, "He could barely string two words together by the time Ron and I got him to lie down."

"Who do you think Ariana is?" Ginny asked.

"Who?"

"Ariana, Ron... the name the Headmaster must have repeated a dozen times while we helped him to his room. Don't you remember?"

"Well, it's like you said, Hermione. He couldn't even string two words together..."

"Ronald! Ariana is ONE WORD! And given the fact that Professor Dumbledore parroted the name the entire time we were tending to him, I would have thought you could have seen fit to store it somewhere in that brain of yours!" Hermione reproved.

"Oh... here we go again!" Ginny mumbled under her breath.

"For your information, Hermione, that is NOT all he said. And I HAVE seen fit to remember!" Ron argued.

"Wait... what else did he say?" Harry inquired, suddenly interested in this otherwise pointless tiff.

"He didn't say anything else, Harry. Ron's just..."

"He did, Hermione! When you left to get the Headmaster some Dreamless Sleep from the infirmary! He said something about... trying to find a cave... I think."

"WHAT?" Harry interjected, sitting up straighter on the settee upon hearing this new information. "A cave? Is that all he said? Think Ron... this could be important! He might have been talking about another horcrux!"

"Oh... um... yeah. Sorry. OK... well, he definitely mentioned needing to find a cave... and... oh, right... something about a locket."

"A locket?" Harry mused, "What do you think, Hermione? Do you think Voldemort would have used a locket as a horcrux?"

"Well... I suppose so... if it held meaning for him somehow." Hermione stated, squinting her eyes in deliberation, "But if he DID turn a locket into a horcrux, we would certainly need much more information to go by. I mean, the chances of figuring out which specific locket it could be, out of the literally MILLIONS in existence, would be absolutely ridic... u... lousss..."

Hermione's sedated narrative dwindled to a slow hiss, sounding vaguely like Parseltongue, as her eyes glossed over with what resembled a hypnotic stupor.

"Uh... Hermione?" Harry nervously asked, "Are you... are you OK?"

"The locket... there WAS A LOCKET!"

**Whew! Another chapter down.**

**I hope you're all still enjoying my story! If you are (or even if you're not), please review! I would love to hear your thoughts on the story's progress.**

**A big 'thank you' to all of you who have reviewed so far. I am so pleased with the amount of positive response you have given me.**

**Special thanks to YenGirl for making my day every time I read one of her reviews! Your encouragement means a lot to me. :)**

*****Bonus points for any reviewer who can successfully translate Ron's words when he was speaking with a mouthful of cookies!*****


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes in curiosity.

"The locket, Harry! There WAS a locket! We saw it... we passed it around... we all held it!"

"What are you on about, Hermione?" Ron snorted, obviously skeptical and a bit unnerved by Hermione's impromptu feverishness.

"At Grimmauld Place last summer. Don't you remember? When we were all cleaning out the drawing room... there was that heavy gold locket with a large 'S' on the front, inlaid with emeralds. We all took turns trying to open it and... "

"But Hermione," Ron countered, "You just said it yourself a few seconds ago! Assuming that particular locket was the one that You-Know-Who made into a horcrux, out of all the millions of lockets out there in existence, would be crazy!"

"Listen, I know this sounds rather misguided, but I really do believe that locket could be the one," Hermione answered and then, seeing the others' doubtful expressions, continued undaunted, "If you recall, nobody could get it open. So I was attempting all the different unlocking and de-warding spells I've read about and, well... I've read about quite a few. Consequently, I was handling that locket for a while, longer than any one of you three. And after the duration... I don't know how to explain it... I just didn't feel... right. Something about that locket just seemed... _sinister_. It... it _affected me_."

Harry noticed Ginny tense slightly beside him. He wondered if she was reminded of how strongly Riddle's diary had affected her. He suddenly felt a nearly overwhelming urge to hold her, to wrap his arms around her and not let go. But he rejected the impulse, settling instead for detaching her hand from its forcible grip on her own knee and tenderly lacing her fingers with his own. She visibly relaxed at his touch, and Harry was warmed by his ability to soothe her.

"There were an awful lot of cursed, dark objects in that house, Hermione," Ron reminded her, "Maybe it was just some hexed necklace belonging to Sirius' deranged mum. I mean, it could have been a Black family heirloom or something."

"But if that were the case, why was it engraved with that jeweled 'S' instead of the Black family crest? All their other relics where inscribed with it." Ginny offered.

"Well, that's true," Harry reasoned, "Although I suppose the 'S' could simply stand for 'Slytherin' since the whole lot of them were in Slytherin... except for Sirius, that is. Even Sirius' brother, Regulus, was a... was a..."

Harry was certain he must have been mirroring Hermione's dumbstruck look from earlier when she was remembering the locket, as his brain desperately tried to focus on the details pertaining to a conversation he had with his Godfather nearly a year ago.

"Sirius' brother... Regulus... he was a Death Eater!" Harry cried, "Sirius told me last summer! Hermione... I think... I think you could be right about the locket!"

"What? So... so you think Regulus was holding the locket... the horcrux... for You-Know-Who?" Ron asked, suddenly appearing ashen-faced and distressed. Harry would have smirked at Ron's abrupt reversal of position, as he watched Ron decisively slide closer to Hermione, draping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close to his side, but he was too caught up in the viability of this new, frightening revelation.

"Think about it Ron, Voldemort entrusted one of the horcruxes, Riddle's diary, to Lucius Malfoy, and Snape believes that Bellatrix Lestrange might have been awarded the task of safeguarding a horcrux as well. So, it stands to reason that he could have relinquished the care of the locket to another Death Eater... Regulus Black!"

"It's a good theory," Hermione commented, "But how can we know for sure?"

"We ask someone with inside information, that's how." Harry answered, grinning sanguinely. And without haste, he bounded off the settee and darted toward the professors' room, hoping Snape could provide more information.

Harry approached the door and stalled, distracted by a precipitous ambivalence. He had never intentionally requested the Potions Master's help before, and now that the situation had arisen, he felt unsure about beseeching the man's assistance. _But this is part of trusting him_, Harry thought. _He wants me to come to him and to not feel as though I have to do everything myself._

Armed with these assurances, Harry found himself tapping lightly on the heavy oak door. Snape emerged a moment later in an impressive swirl of black that fleetingly dimmed the faint flickers from the room's illuminating candles. Harry was surprised to see that he was wearing reading glasses. The thin, wiry frames were balanced expertly on the periphery of his hooked nose, and Snape's glittering black orbs peered expectantly over the top of the lenses, in careful analysis of Harry's nervous demeanor.

"What's wrong? You look pale... have you eaten?" Snape inquired while squinting, his eyes repeatedly darting back and forth over Harry's features in a persistent evaluation of his agitated state.

"Yes, Professor, I ate. And I'm fine. I just..." Harry stopped briskly upon noticing the stack of books in the far corner of the room. The top-most one familiar to Harry, easily discernible by its frayed and ancient-looking binding. The gold lettering on the cover was reflecting the room's candlelight, making the title more legible even from across the room - _Immortality: Sorcery Of Soul Splitting. _He averted his eyes from it, not really desiring an informative lecture on the intricacies of making a horcrux. Of course it only made sense that Snape would try to gather as much knowledge as possible about the gruesome complexity of this darkest art. He would seek to understand it, in order to defeat it. Harry could certainly appreciate this sentiment, however, at least in this case, he preferred to maintain his ignorance on the subject.

"I was just wondering if... how is he?" Harry began again, but ceased in explaining his presence once more, as he caught a glimpse of the tranquil, aged face of the elderly headmaster, sleeping soundly in one of the room's narrow bunks. His breathing had a frail, labored quality to it, and Harry was unexpectedly filled with dread, doubting the older wizard's ability to rebound from his recent arduous experience.

Snape sighed wearily, but answered, "He will recover, Harry. But the Headmaster has undergone quite an extensive shock, to his body and to his mind. He is currently dosed with a significant amount of Dreamless Sleep. I do not expect him to emerge from its effects until this time tomorrow at the earliest. Now then, what is it I can assist you with?"

"Oh... OK. Um... well, I was wondering if you... uh... if I could... can I ask you..." Harry floundered hopelessly with the English language for several more seconds until Snape liberated him from his failed attempts at coherency.

"Harry, you should realize by now that you may call upon me anytime. And it is glaringly obvious that you currently have something vital that you wish to discuss with me. Even if I were able to disregard your stalling and stuttering, I can easily recognize that zealous glint of poorly-masked Gryffindor brazenness in your eyes. So please, do us both the courtesy of disclosing your current introspection before you renounce all semblance of logic in a fit of anxiety and impulsively react to said disquiet in what would undoubtedly manifest into some unfortunate, impetuous display. Now then, please enlighten me as to what is ruminating in that over-burdened mind of yours so that we may avoid such an event."

Harry couldn't stop the tiny simper that graced his lips upon hearing the typical Snape-ish monologue, so laden with sarcasm, yet deficient in its usual disdain. Stripping the speech of sardonic wit, Harry could quickly recognize the concern behind the derisive words. He peered up into the dark eyes of his professor and felt his apprehension lift, replaced with a comfortable acceptance of this credence offered to him.

"OK. We… Ron, Hermione, Ginny and I… we think we may have a lead on the identity of another horcrux… and possibly its location. And I was hoping you might be able to… uh… tell us what you know about… Regulus Black?" Harry finished hurriedly, nervous in anticipation of Snape's reaction to an inquiry pertaining to a fellow Death Eater, not to mention one that was the brother of his childhood nemesis.

Snape's only demonstration of uneasiness upon hearing Harry's admission presented as an almost imperceptible attenuating of his eyes and a slow, deliberate intake of breath. After a seemingly endless pause during which time Harry busied himself by attempting to wipe away the dampness from his palms by scraping them along the sides of his too-baggy jeans, he returned his gaze to his professor just as Snape began to voice his reply.

"I confess, I do not possess many details regarding Regulus. We were nothing more then acquaintances during his brief stint as a follower of the Dark Lord and perhaps less so while we were at school. However, I am willing to divulge what I DO know, if you would please elaborate on this… _lead_ of yours."

"Oh… yeah. Sure. Could we… join the others?"

Snape gave a terse nod in response and followed Harry out into the sitting room. Whatever conversation had been ongoing prior to their arrival, abruptly dissolved into a series of hushed murmurs and surreptitious glances. Harry paid no mind to the room's altered mood and resumed his previous spot at Ginny's side, while Snape took up residence in the leather-bound chair nearest the hearth. Harry's gaze deviated from the foreboding glower of the Potions Master, and settled instead on Hermione's uneasy expression. He implored her with a fixed look, compelling her to begin their exposition. She obliged.

"Professor, do you remember last summer? The four of us… we were helping Mrs. Weasley and Sirius decontaminate Grimmauld Place. Well, we found something in that old cabinet in the drawing room, a locket, and it was… well, um… a very dark object…." Hermione explained, voice slightly higher in pitch and twittering anxiously.

"Miss Granger, just because you and your friends discovered a cursed artifact hidden amongst the possessions of an exceedingly dark family, should not imply that it is one of the Dark Lord's horcruxes. I should think that you might have a bit more of a grounded rationale when it comes to such…"

"Professor, please just listen! Ron heard the Headmaster mumble something about a locket while he and Hermione where attempting to get him to his room this morning. And he was still under the truth spell's influence at the time. He must have been referring to another horcrux!" Harry argued adamantly, "And I know it seems like too much of a coincidence, but Hermione swears that the locket at Grimmauld Place had a negative affect on her. And Regulus was a Death Eater! Sirius told me last summer. Voldemort could have given him the locket to keep safe, just like Lucius Malfoy was given the diary and…"

"Harry…" Snape interrupted, "I am intrigued by the knowledge that the Headmaster mentioned a locket while still impacted by the spell. And I will admit that it is a compelling evidence of a locket being one of the five remaining horcruxes. However, the Dark Lord would never have given anything that he considered valuable to Regulus Black for safekeeping, and most assuredly not a piece of his own soul. I'm afraid that part of your theory is quite inconceivable."

"But, he WAS a Death Eater!" Harry asserted.

"Yes, Harry, but he was never considered more than a lowly pawn among the Dark Lord's many followers. Regulus was merely an entry-level Death Eater, no more than a puppet to be manipulated and exploited, coerced into facilitating nothing more than the Dark Lord's most trivial tasks. He would never have been awarded such an elite assignment. And if the rumors are to be believed, he was a Death Eater for scarcely more than a year before he began exhibiting the conspicuous signs of regret over his decision to be marked. It would be a great understatement to insinuate that the Dark Lord does not take kindly to those who seek... ah... _retirement_ from his service. Regulus disappeared not long after that, just before you were born actually, and was not heard from again."

Harry sighed laboriously, deflated by this latest blow. He had been clinging to the hope that this obscure theory would lead them to the destruction of one more fragment of Voldemort's existence. Silence weighed heavily upon them now, as the five sat motionless, each arrested by their separate reflection. Harry glanced up at Snape to find him staring intently at him, yet his eyes seemed out of focus. Some lone amorphous notion appeared to be formulating behind their depths.

"What… did it look like?" His question cut through the quiet like a blade, sharp with implied significance.

"It was gold…. very large… and it was embellished with an ornate 'S' made of… emeralds, I think. It actually looked very much like a snake," Hermione offered, "It was very heavy too, almost as though it were solid. But none of us could open it, Professor. I tried all sorts of charms…"

"A large 'S'… encrusted with… green gems? And the 'S' resembled a snake?" Snape interjected.

Harry could practically see the wheels turning within the complex workings of Snape's mind. He must have understood something because he quickly redirected his attention from Hermione and back to him.

"Harry, did you try speaking to it?" Snape asked, a febrile gleam replacing his normal indifference.

"What? What do you mean… speaking to it?"

"Parseltongue, Harry. Did it or did it not resemble the snake-like emblem adorning all relics associated with Salazar Slytherin?" Snape retorted impatiently.

"Oh… well… I…" Harry stammered comically, feeling completely flummoxed. Yes, now that Snape mentioned it, that 'S' did look like the mark of Slytherin. The silver and green snake curled into a perfect 'S' shape was emblazoned on all things Slytherin, and could even be seen on the Hogwarts crest itself. And, of course, if this were a Slytherin artifact, it stood to reason that to open the thing, Parseltongue would be the obvious choice.

"I'm sorry, Professor… I never thought about it at the time. But… does this mean…. do you agree with us that this locket could be a horcrux?" Harry asked.

"I… yes, I think that remains a distinct possibility. Genuine Slytherin artifacts are exceedingly rare. If what you describe is factual AND if the Headmaster can confirm the possibility of a locket being used as a horcrux, then I do believe we should take a closer look at this particular locket. I continue to be perplexed as to how it would have fallen into the hands of the Black family, however it does stand to reason that Regulus could have had something to do with it despite his nominal servitude under the Dark Lord's regime."

"Oh no!" Ginny's startling gasp seemed to splinter the resonating optimism, as she whipped her head around to fix Hermione with a desperate stare. "Hermione! Didn't… didn't Sirius throw all that stuff away? All those mad things we found in the cabinet… the music box, those wretched tweezer things and… and the locket! Sirius threw them all in that dustbin… didn't he?"

"Oh God… oh no… Harry, Ginny's right!" She replied apologetically, her eyes seeking remission. "I'm so sorry! The bin was right beside me, and once I started to feel the locket's effects… I… I remember now… I just…just threw it away!" Her words dwindled into a soft, muffled whimper as Ron pulled her close and she buried her face in his t-shirt.

"Kreacher," Harry muttered soundlessly.

"What?" Ron asked.

"KREACHER!" Harry bellowed, standing now, fists clenched with unbridled anxiety, "He was stealing things back, remember? He was nicking all kinds of Black family heirlooms from the piles of rubbish… he might have…"

But Harry did not get to finish his explanation as the there was a deafening _CRACK _that reverberated loudly throughout the sitting room, and the tiny, filthy beast in question stood before them looking astonished to find himself in their company.

"What the…?" Ron uttered despite his shock. "How did you manage to summon that demented elf, Harry?"

"Harry… a word. Please." Snape ascended from his chair and beckoned Harry to follow him into the kitchen. Harry struggled to extricate his thoughts away from what had just occurred long enough to obey. With one last perplexed glance in his friends' direction, he followed the professor. Once alone in the kitchen, Snape scanned Harry's still incredulous features, seeking connection with Harry's eyes. Harry obliged, curious when he noticed a sympathetic, yet clearly apprehensive expression.

"Harry… I have no doubt Professor Dumbledore had meant to discuss this with you himself, but as he is indisposed and considering the rather unforeseen appearance of a certain house-elf, I expect that onus now falls to me."

"Discuss… what, exactly?" Harry inquired nervously.

"Sit."

Harry sat.

"Sirius Black's Last Will And Testament named you as his sole beneficiary. You have essentially been designated as his heir. You own the entirety of his estate; all his gold, land and property, including Grimmauld Place and its solitary inhabitant… Kreacher. This is why you were able to summon him. He defers to your command only now."

"But… but I don't want that foul elf! I don't want anything to do with him! He betrayed Sirius! He…"

"You do NOT have a choice in this matter. You must accept this despite the pain it brings you. The Order of the Phoenix needs to retain number twelve Grimmauld Place as its headquarters, and we need to be certain that it is indeed safe to do so. The question of Kreacher's loyalties must be resolved if we are to proceed in this endeavor. And we need you to fulfill this obligation. Do you understand?"

Harry's eyes fell to the floor, as he nodded minutely, ashamed of the sudden emergence of tears in his eyes.

"Harry…. look at me." He returned his attention to the Professor's earnest expression searching for strength from this man who had endured so much hardship throughout his life. Hoping for some inexplicable offering of courage from this unlikely hero.

"You can do this." Snape whispered. A simple statement, but nevertheless effective. Harry nodded again, this time with more conviction.

"Now… let's see if we can't find out a bit more about this locket, shall we?"

- o -

The next few hours passed by in what can only be described as a disturbing onslaught of rapidly shifting emotion. It took most of the first hour just to calm the irate elf after being taken from his home by what he referred to as a _conspiratorial attack on the Noble House of Black by the filth that seek to destroy it_. At the hour's conclusion, Harry resorted to forbidding the flailing creature from uttering another word in order for their queries to be heard.

After many failed attempts at prying information from the elf pertaining to the location of the locket, it was Hermione who finally broke through to him. She simply asked him if the locket had been Regulus', causing Kreacher to erupt into a barrage of whimpers and sobs. Once the trembling elf regained his poise, however, he told them a horrid tale about a frightening journey to a dark lake in an underground cave, a luminescent poison with grave effects and a brave young man who sought to bring about the demise of the Dark Lord by paying the ultimate price. By the end of Kreacher's story, the only dry eyes in the room belonged to Snape, although Harry found it revealing that at the most intense, emotionally-charged point of the story, Snape allowed his dark, sable strands of hair to fall upon his face, effectively keeping his face hidden in shadow.

The house-elf also recounted his many futile attempts to destroy the locket after Regulus' untimely death. And he confirmed, to everyone's immense relief, that he had, in fact, stolen the horcrux back from the rubbish bin last summer and was currently hiding it in his filthy nook under the boiler at Grimmauld Place.

They concluded Kreacher's visit by assuring the small being that their only aim was to finish the work of Regulus Black, to eliminate the locket that he had attempted unsuccessfully to destroy for the last sixteen years. After much sniveling and countless unsteady breaths, the trembling elf was noticeably pacified. He bid them farewell after promising to guard the locket and keep it safe within the protective wards of Grimmauld Place. Harry had initially argued with Snape that they should allow the elf to bring the locket to them, but Snape however, adamantly refused, reasoning that it was too dangerous for them to be in such close confines with the horcrux over the remainder of their quarantine. Ginny seemed quite relieved by this. Harry couldn't blame her based on her own horrifying experience with a piece of Voldemort's soul.

Dinner was a quiet affair, all occupants of the room too immersed in dark thoughts over the day's disturbing events. Harry supposed they should all feel some solace upon discovering another horcrux, but the oppressive task of ascertaining the other four AND destroying the one they had somehow stumbled upon, weighed heavily on their success, essentially negating their recent triumph.

And all throughout their meal, Harry couldn't shake this nagging dread in the back of his mind. He kept fixating on those books in the professors' room and became alarmed when he felt a strong urge to rip them to shreds, defile their pages, ruin their dark, vile illuminations. He felt angry, nervous and... strangely threatened... not exactly by the books themselves, but perhaps by the knowledge lying within the content of their worn pages.

While Ginny, Ron and Hermione cleaned up after dinner, Harry pulled Snape aside to speak privately with the man. He wasn't exactly certain how to disclose his recent unease about those books containing the secrets of soul magic, blood sacrifice and immortality, but he had promised Snape that he would come to him, confide in him when he was anxious or upset. Harry intended to keep that promise.

"Professor, I'd like to ask you about... about those books in your room," Harry tentatively began, "I know you're reading them, and I was just wondering... if you found anything important in them about... um... our situation?"

Snape took a labored breath and held it, seemingly stalling while searching for the right words. When he exhaled, he pursed his lips together firmly and furrowed his brow revealing his agitation with the subject matter.

"I have only just begun reading them, Harry, but I can tell you they are... quite disturbing. The text on soul splitting alone tells of some of the darkest magic known to wizard-kind. But... I do believe that I have uncovered a few ways to destroy a horcrux. Neither method is easy to facilitate, but they remain viable solutions to our dilemma of eliminating..."

"Alright, OK... that's... great, Professor... really. I'll just go to bed then. I... I'm really exhausted and..." Harry rambled somewhat illogically turning abruptly from Snape as he was suddenly accosted by sharp, overwhelming waves of panic. Snape was quick, however, grabbing Harry by the cuff of his tee and pulling him back to face him once more. He gripped Harry's upper arms tightly as he bent down slightly and peered into his eyes wide with poorly-controlled fear.

"Harry, what is it? What are you feeling?" Snape pleaded.

"I... I just... I don't know!" He exclaimed. Harry's breathing became shallow and his face was feeling heated, as he fought for some kind of control over this rising dread. And in the midst of his sickening panic, that hauntingly familiar voice raged inside his mind, battled for dominance, struggled to be heard once more. _You are nothing without me, Harry. You exist only because I let you. I will never leave you... you and I... are the same. You and I are one._

"No! No... Please no!..." Harry anguished, as he slid down the wall to the cold, hard floor, shaking and clutching his head. The voice was ear-splitting and the pain in his scar was returning. He suddenly felt the warmth of protective arms wrap around him and another, softer voice competing for his regard, whispering urgently in his ear.

"Fight him, Harry. Remember what I told you about your strength, your power, your weapon. Use your love, Harry. Let yourself feel what he will NEVER understand. Let your love drive him out."

Harry focused on Snape's words, his meaning, while he struggled to assuage his fear. He concentrated fixedly on his feelings for his friends...Ron, Hermione, Ginny... and Sirius... he let the emotions they evoked permeate his heart, allowing his very soul to be enveloped in the warmth of his love for them. As Snape's words persisted, grounding him to his task, he welcomed a new emotion, a new endearment that nearly overwhelmed his heart. He let himself basque in its benevolent energy, opened his heart to its tangible sincerity. And all at once, he felt his constricting panic lift. His pain was completely depleted. And Voldemort's menacing voice was muted once more.

**OK... another chapter finished! This was a challenging one for me, but I hope you enjoyed it regardless of the hardships I endured writing it! Next up... the Headmaster will have to "own up" to few more things. Should be fun!**

**Please review! :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Stunned and gasping for breath, Harry fought to mitigate his stupefacient mind. While the imprint of yet another mental confrontation with Voldemort sharpened in lucidity, he was vaguely aware of the protective arms that had encircled him during the attack receding from their place. Those same arms were pulling his arm now, maneuvering it around broad shoulders as he was heaved up onto feet too impotent to sustain his own weight.

"Oh shit! What happened? Is he alright?"

"Mr. Weasley, would you kindly cease spewing vulgarities long enough to assist me in getting him into the infirmary?"

"Ginny, get the door!"

Harry heard their distressed commentary, witnessed their frantic movements, felt their urgent ministrations, yet continued to concentrate on bringing his murky memories into greater clarity. _What just happened?_ Harry mused, _I drove him out again. I did what he said... and it worked. It was love that pushed him away._

He remembered the evil voice crippling him, diminishing him with words stained with malice. He felt his body shudder as he recalled with precision Voldemort's vindictive provocation... _You and I are the same. You and I are one. _And he remembered Snape's instruction, urging him to access his emotion, surround himself in love, utilize its influence to drive out the loveless monster.

"Miss Granger, bring me a vial of calming draught... top shelf... on the left."

"Yes, Professor. I've got it... here."

And it was love that was ultimately successful in compelling Voldemort's retreat, Harry was sure of it. He recalled conjuring thoughts of Hermione and Ron, Ginny, Sirius. He had focused on his love for them. He immersed himself in the devotion and affection he felt for his friends and his Godfather. And then... and then he remembered...

"Prop him up, Miss Weasley. He needs to be in a more upright position to take the potion."

... He remembered the inundating torrent of emotion when his thoughts suddenly veered toward Snape and all of the kindness and care the man had bestowed upon him the last few days. And he had been taken aback by the way his heart immediately felt more open, more accepting than ever before. He felt as though some neglected vacant part of him, some gnawing ache ignored for years, was instantly granted restoration, reprieve from its suffering, amnesty from its torment. It was this that drove Voldemort out. An emotion so efficacious, so powerful, so pure in its undeniable honesty, it could only be love.

"Harry… Harry! Come on, Harry... look at me."

Somewhere in the foggy depths of his weighty contemplation, Harry startled. The feel of cool fingers gripping his chin and the urgency of a low, persistent command pulled him back into razor-sharp awareness. He blinked his eyes furiously, encouraging them to concentrate on a focal point and disband this jumbled blurry scene before him. When his eyes were finally able to distinguish his surroundings with finer definition, Harry gazed upon the very worried face of the Potions Master.

"Professor... I... I'm fine... I'm alright now..." Harry rasped and upon hearing his scratchy voice, swallowed hard attempting to lubricate his parched throat.

"You are most certainly NOT fine. Drink." Snape ordered as he brought a vial up to Harry's dry lips and encouraged him to sip the potion within. Harry obeyed, grateful as the tepid liquid soothed his still-aching throat. Harry relaxed instantly, his tension abating enough to allow him to lean back into the warm body behind him, bearing his weight. He felt his eyelids fall contentedly as Ginny's petite fingers abandoned their grip on the back of his head where they had been supporting him, and began gently brushing through strands of his hair, fingertips caressing his scalp. When he lifted his leaden lids again and looked sluggishly into Snape's eyes once more, he was greeted by an amused smirk.

"Alright, you three... Out! He needs sleep. You can see him in the morning." Snape instructed with an air of finality.

"But Professor..."

"Now!"

Harry was jostled slightly as Ginny shifted to remove herself from under his weight. He watched his friends' disinclined faces as they complied with Snape's orders and departed from the small infirmary reluctantly.

"Are you still in pain?" Snape asked.

"No... well, my forehead's a little sore. But it's really not too bad."

"Sit up. I'm going to give you some pain-relieving potion and a small dose of Dreamless Sleep. Just enough to sustain an undisturbed slumber for the entirety of the evening."

As Snape searched through the potions cabinet, Harry once again reminisced over his shocking realization uncovered only moments ago during Voldemort's latest attack. So much had happened over the last few days but somehow... someway or another... he had not only come to trust this man, but he had grown to care for him as well. Yes, at some point through all this madness while sequestered in the Room of Requirement, Harry had begun to rely on Snape... to depend on him as one might depend on a parent for support, for guidance... and for love.

But this frightened him almost more than Voldemort's taunting, verbal assaults. Accepting this love made him feel so vulnerable, acutely susceptible to emotional dejection. And what was most confusing about it was that it just made no sense! Everything was so much simpler before. Their previous relationship had been straightforward; an antibiosis based on mutual loathing and hate. Or... maybe not so much hate... he supposed it would be more accurate to describe it as being born out of misunderstanding and regret. But he couldn't possibly feel love for Snape after all that, could he? After so many years of mistreatment? Harry had endured too many of Snape's cruel words and vindictive retaliations to simply forgive and forget. Right? And considering their belligerent history, how was it even remotely feasible for Snape to make him feel so… secure and protected? So safe and cared for?

Harry shook his head in an attempt to dismiss his incertitude. No... the truth was that it might never make much sense. This path fashioned from so much condescension and disdain had twisted and turned and unexpectedly led to a destination of respect, understanding and endearment. Harry had let this man into his life, into his heart, and received so much more than reparation in return. He had received a defender, a protector and a guardian who would be there for him no matter what pain may lie ahead. And as he watched Snape rifling through the cabinet in search of the correct vial with slightly shaking hands, still obviously affected by lingering anxiety over Harry's recent scare, he couldn't help but think..._ this is how it's supposed to be. This is what it feels like to have someone care for you... REALLY care for you... love you... this is what it feels like to have a father. _And as Harry allowed this last thought to assimilate, he permitted this new love a permanent place in his heart and a small contented smile played about his lips.

Snape turned back around to face Harry, two vials in hand, and stopped abruptly as he took in the sight of his beaming grin.

"A smile? Please, Harry, do enlighten me as to what could possibly be so amusing in the aftermath of the the Dark Lord's attack on you."

"I did what you said," Harry nervously admitted.

Snape must have deciphered the gravity of his statement, because he placed the potions aside on the tiny bedside table, and sat down on the bed next to Harry, studying him intently.

"You focused on your love for your friends? And this is what caused him to withdraw from your mind so quickly?" Snape asked, "Well done, Harry. I knew you could do it." He added. But when he made to get up again, Harry reached out for him, catching his wrist in his still quivering hand, and coaxing him back down.

"No... I mean, yes. I did think of my friends and how much I love them. I concentrated on Ron, Hermione and Ginny... and Sirius. And it was helping. But... no. That's not what drove him out." Harry glanced up and noticed Snape's brow furrowed in confusion. Harry swallowed thickly, pushing past his growing tension and continued. He needed Snape to understand, even if it meant opening himself up to inevitable disappointment.

"It was you, Professor. It was only when I thought about you... about how much you've come to mean to me. That's what banished him. Only when I accepted how much I need you to be in my life... how much I wish for you to… to l-l-love me... like a son..." Harry's last words diminished into a shaky whisper and he forced himself to look away from Snape, suddenly terrified at his disclosure, his show of raw truth, so frightened of receiving that familiar rejection he had encountered routinely as a child.

And as tears gathered treacherously in the corners of his eyes, broke past the impediment of their lids, and streamed down his cheeks copiously, Harry felt the man's hand snake around his neck and pull him firmly into a warm embrace. Harry surrendered into the gesture of care and allowed Snape to hold him securely to his chest as his tears continued to cascade from his watery gaze.

"I already do, Harry," Snape whispered, resting his chin on the top of Harry's head and taking a deep, trembling breath, "I already do love you like a son."

Harry closed his eyes and reveled in Snape's admission. His heart felt like it was soaring, and he stopped trying to wipe away the onrush of grateful tears. He willingly let them fall, each drop gliding down his skin seemed to purge another year of sorrowful emptiness. And as Harry unleashed a rigid breath he had been clinging to, Snape slowly released him, but kept both hands on Harry's shoulders in a firm, reassuring grip. He directed his jet eyes on Harry's shimmering pools of green in a fathomless stare as he found his voice again.

"Truth be told, I have no conceivable clue how you were able to fidget and squirm your way into my heart. But you certainly managed it and though unexpected, I do not regret your presence for one moment. No one is more astonished than I to suddenly find your impetuous and misguided ways endearing, and it pains me to concede that your unyielding obstinacy is actually a benefaction from your willful mother. And though you will undoubtedly drive me to madness, just as she did, I very much wish to be part of your life, Harry. I realize that I have made a myriad of mistakes with you in the past, and I will admit that perhaps I have no right to expect your forgiveness for my transgressions…"

"Professor, I don't care about what happened before Saturday, before this room, I just… I just want us to start over. Can we do that? Can we just… forget about the past and move on… together?"

"So much like your mother," Snape replied, smiling reverently, as he placed his hand on Harry's dampened cheek affectionately, "Yes, Harry. We can do that."

He ascended from his position at Harry's side, took hold of the previously forsaken potion vials and waited for Harry to remove the final remnants of tears with the heels of his hands before offering him the draughts. "Take both of these potions and get some sleep. We will all convene sometime after lunch tomorrow with the Headmaster, as I expect he still has much to disclose."

And with a final sardonic leer and perfunctory nod in Harry's direction, the Potions Master swept from the room in a tenebrous billow of black.

- o -

Harry slept through breakfast again. Five days in the Room of Requirement and Harry was pretty certain he had only eaten four meals. He wasn't fussed about it though. After last night's revelation and the profound conversation with Snape that followed, he was actually feeling cautiously optimistic for the first time in days... or perhaps years. So he certainly wasn't going to let a bit of hunger get him down. He realized that the day promised to be quite unsettling with the unavoidable truths that would be revealed later, but he also knew that his fiends, and Snape, would be there to support him.

With this comforting notion as incentive, Harry showered and dressed quickly, anxious to greet his friends. He was certain they were probably worried about him after this most recent attack by Voldemort. And he could hardly blame them. After all, Harry had spent more evenings sleeping in the make-shift infirmary than his assigned room with Ron.

"Hey Mate! Good to see you up!" Ron beamed when Harry entered the kitchen, "Sorry you missed breakfast. Snape went all out again."

"Yeah? Fried eggs? Baked beans? And bacon?"

"Yep. All that and more."

"Damn, I always miss the good meals." Harry mused.

"He was really acting odd, too. Wasn't he, Hermione?" Ron added.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say he was acting _odd_... just a bit more _cheerful_, is all." she countered.

"Uh-huh. And you seriously don't consider Snape acting even a little cheerful, _odd_?" He smirked.

"Oh alright. Yes. But it was a nice change."

Harry couldn't help the grin creeping across his face. Snape really was pleased about their emotional discussion last night as well as the resultant agreement to put the past behind them and start anew.

"Harry, are you feeling alright? Your head... does it still hurt?" Ginny's nervous timbre broke through his reminiscing, and he turned just in time to see the barely constrained concern in her troubled, mahogany eyes. She nibbled on her bottom lip timidly and lowered her gaze. He was suddenly overcome with what Snape would certainly have called an impetuous impulse, as he closed the space dividing them and pulled her into a smothering hug. He swept her long, crimson hair away from her face and whispered against her warm cheek, "Never better." He knew all eyes were on him, but he lacked the motivation to pull away, so content for her to remain wrapped tightly in his arms. And as he felt her lean into his touch, he kissed her lightly on her flushed cheek.

When they finally broke apart, Ron looked rather humorously flustered, eyes ridiculously wide and mouth agape. Hermione wasted no time ending the elaborate spectacle, however, when she cuffed him over the head with the book she had been reading and chastised him thoroughly.

"Honestly, Ronald! Close your mouth. You resemble a codfish for God's sake!"

"But... he... my sister... and he..." Ron stammered helplessly.

"Brother, I swear, if you even THINK about finishing whatever ludicrous admonishment might be lurking about in that thick head of yours, I will not hesitate to use that Magnis spell on you! And I will take great pleasure in asking you about every single embarrassing moment..." Ginny warned menacingly.

"OK! OK... sorry. I was just a little... um... surprised by all the hugging and... stuff." he finished in a quiet murmur as a deep, scarlet blush spread across his face.

"Well, anyway, we were just about to make some lunch, Harry." Hermione mentioned, effectively steering the conversation away from Ginny and Harry's embrace, "Snape told us earlier that we should go ahead and make ourselves sandwiches. He said he'd be in with the Headmaster until one o'clock. I take it you're hungry since you skipped breakfast?"

"Famished," He answered with a wide smile.

The four occupied the next hour with lunch, laughter and light conversation. But all too soon, the discussion turned to inquiries pertaining to Voldemort's recent incursion into Harry's mind. As uncomfortable as these talks could become, Harry understood his friends' concern for him.

"So, Snape told you to concentrate on the people you love? And the depth of your feelings for them is what ultimately pushed him out of your mind?" Hermione asked earnestly, "That's amazing, Harry!"

"Yeah. It was only after I concentrated on the love I feel for you... for ALL of you, and Sirius and... and Professor Snape…" He paused, cleared his throat against the sudden tightness that seemed to constrict his airways. His eyes darted nervously back and forth around the room, expecting to see incredulous faces staring back at him after divulging that last name. Ron did have a rather peculiar _'Did I hear you right?'_ look twisting his features, but Ginny and Hermione positively beamed at him.

"That's great, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, "It's so wonderful that you and Snape have become closer through this whole experience. It must mean so much to both of you that you've been able get past your volatile history and learn to care for each other."

Harry just smiled in response. He glanced back at Ron and relaxed when he noticed his shocked visage had transformed into a supportive grin.

"Thanks, guys. It means a lot to me that you're not... well, you know, freaking out about this. I mean, I know it's strange, but Professor Snape really has become important to me. He was my mum's best friend. He was a big part of her life. And now he's part of mine."

"Um... sorry to change the subject so abruptly, Harry, but... well, I was wondering..." Hermione muttered indistinctly, her agitation palpable, "I just wanted to ask you... what happened last night?"

"Huh?" Harry bemused.

"Well, it's just that you seemed fine at dinner. And, well, you were only talking with the Professor for about two minutes before you started clutching your head and screaming. Last time you said that Who-Know-Who gained access to your mind because you were so angry. But, Harry, you weren't angry this time, were you?" Hermione probed.

"Oh... uh... no, I wasn't," Harry replied.

"So how was he able to penetrate your mind? What reason would he have had to attack you?" She asked imploringly.

Harry wasn't entirely sure how he would have answered her question, but he was denied the opportunity as Snape entered the kitchen at that moment. He appeared weary and stressed. Harry imagined that looking after the ill Headmaster had taken its toll. Or perhaps Harry was seeing trepidation in Snape's dark eyes, unease at the prospect of another day of unpleasant truth-telling.

"If all four of you have finished your meal, we have some... _unfinished business_... to attend to with the Headmaster." Snape announced. Harry followed Snape out of the kitchen and into the sitting room, his friends in his wake, and took a seat in a corner alcove of one of the settees. Ginny curled up next to him, tucking the tips of her bare toes under his thigh. It might have simply been for warmth, but Harry's face flushed slightly nevertheless.

Professor Dumbledore was already seated in the leather-clad chair beside the hearth. In the radiant luminosity of the dancing flames, his lined and worn face appeared more hardened and severe, his piercing sapphire eyes bereft of their usual twinkle. The hope that previously adorned the elderly wizard's features was absent, replaced by a knowing sadness. And Harry, not for the first time, wondered if the Headmaster would have the strength to survive this week-long endeavor of truth.

"Albus, I presume you have surmised as to why we are here," Snape began, "We wish for you to reveal all that you know regarding the Dark Lord's horcruxes. We haven't much time left in this room, and I can only assume that our host's primary motive greatly centers around the veracity of this topic. So… if you'll please…"

Snape spoke no more, but gestured his hand toward the Headmaster as if to suggest that his chance to avow had commenced. Dumbledore shut his eyes momentarily and released a defeated sigh. When his cerulean gaze was once again patently prominent, he began his disturbing narrative about an unloved orphan boy who bore a sticking similarity to another.

"Tom Riddle grew up in a Muggle orphanage in London, completely unaware of his unique heritage. He was so ignorant of his lineage in fact, that it was not until I, myself, met with him that he became aware he was a wizard."

Harry inwardly recoiled. He loathed being reminded of just how analogous his and Voldemort's childhoods were. Both grew up in apathetic environments, deprived of comfort and love. Neither aware of their birthright. It sickened him to reflect on the parallels that seemed to bind them closer together, entwining their symbiotic connection more emphatically. But Harry forced himself to disregard his discomfort with the subject. He knew this was important.

"Even at the young age of eleven, Tom already desired control, domination, and he relished inflicting pain on others. And what was most troubling to me was his arrant need to feel special, superior to those around him, feared and worshiped by his peers. The proprietor of the orphanage acquainted me with some of the more gruesome and cruel incidents precipitated by Tom. Apparently, he enjoyed tormenting the other children immensely. And with each instance of sadism, he kept an object by which to remember the event... a kind of trophy or souvenir that could serve as a twisted reminder of his transgressions."

"The adult Lord Voldemort is not much different than his childhood version. When he commits a murder of considerable significance to him, one that escalates his self-importance, he creates a memento of the occasion. But far from the harmless trinkets he stole as a boy, embedded within each one of these keepsakes lies a fragment of his twisted soul, torn from him violently and kept safe to ensure his immortality. Voldemort's horcruxes are the guardians of the last threads of their master's humanity, and they must be destroyed if we have any hope to eliminate their maker."

"Unfortunately, I can only guess how many horcruxes he created. I am aware that Voldemort asked a colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn, about horcruxes during his sixth year at Hogwarts, but alas, Horace is unwilling to disclose the details about that conversation. I believe he is convinced that he may have facilitated Voldemort's future acts of evil with the information he shared that day."

"Am I correct in concluding that this is the real reason why you are pursuing Slughorn for the Potions position this year?" Snape inquired jeeringly, "So that you may have the opportunity to persuade the pompous buffoon to confess what he knows?"

"What?" Harry asked, an edge of panic in his voice, " You... you're not teaching this year? But... you're not leaving, are you?"

Snape glanced at Harry, his sardonic leer softening, "No, Harry, I'm not leaving. I'll still be teaching... just not Potions."

Harry nervous expression faded into amusement as comprehension dawned, "Defense? You're the new Defense against the Dark Arts Teacher? That's brilliant!"

"Yes, well, maybe now you'll consider terminating your little illegal _army_. I will not allow secret associations under my tutelage. However, I suppose a small study group would not go awry."

"You knew about the DA?" Harry asked, hoping he wasn't about to hear another irate speech about Gryffindor brazenness.

"Of course I knew. We all knew," Snape replied, "And although I would normally reprimand you for your prodigious stupidity for risking the incurrence of that loathsome woman's wrath, I do commend you for your efforts. I was recently informed that this year's Defense OWLs were the highest they've been in a great number of years. Since it is unfathomable to deduce that the Ministry twit had anything to do with it, I can only conclude that you were the reason behind the upsurge."

"Mate... I'm not sure, but I think Snape just complimented you." Ron offered with a smirk.

Harry grinned sheepishly at the accolade, but his exhilaration was short-lived, as Hermione returned them to the topic at hand.

"Professor Dumbledore, we already know how many horcruxes You-Know-Who created. There is a total of seven horcruxes, the eighth being the piece of soul that remains in his body. The parchment... it just appeared there... not long after we left your room yesterday morning."

The Headmaster leaned forward in his chair and picked up the letter from its position on the coffee table. His eyes swept across the bottom of the page eagerly. When he was through reading the latest addition, he rested the parchment in his lap and sighed deeply.

"Well, that certainly expedites our research." He commented wearily.

"Professor Dumbledore, what we really need to know is what the remaining horcruxes could be! We know he made seven and two have been destroyed, but that still leaves five. Do you know what they are?" Harry realized he must have sounded impatient, but his panic, so debilitating these last few days, was beginning to intensify again. He took a steadying breath, then returned his gaze to the Headmaster who was studying him solemnly.

"Harry, my boy, I'm afraid I have no further facts to disclose. The rest of what I offer you is merely conjecture. And I can only hope that my guesswork is well-founded."

"Pleas continue, Albus. Tell us your theories." Snape urged.

Dumbledore leaned his head against the back of the chair, resting his elbows along the armrests. He lifted his slender fingers up and steepled them, fingertips converging in a demonstration of utmost restraint. After a moment of hiatus, the Headmaster began once more.

"There exists a locket, rumored to have belonged to Salazar Slytherin, and passed down through the generations. As you all know, Voldemort is the last remaining heir of the Slytherin line. It is my belief that he procured this artifact, which he considers rightfully his of course, while working at Borgin and Burkes after graduating from Hogwarts. I am reasonably certain he made this relic into a horcrux not long after obtaining it."

"Professor? Was it a large gold locket with the Slytherin 'S' inlaid with emeralds on the front?" Hermione asked hopefully.

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes slightly at her insight, but nodded.

"We have it." Harry offered, "At Grimmauld Place. It's kind of a long story... but Regulus Black apparently stole it from some cave that Voldemort was hiding it in. He died trying to ensure its destruction. But Kreacher is keeping it safe for us until we can destroy it."

"What of the others, Albus?" Snape pressed, "Are they Slytherin heirlooms as well?"

"Though it certainly seems as though Tom favored Slytherin's possessions, I do believe he sought to acquire objects belonging to the remaining three Hogwarts founders to be used as horcruxes as well. Riddle considered Hogwarts his home... a sanctuary from his otherwise mediocre upbringing. Hogwarts is where he grew powerful, where he obtained a following, an army, if you will. He yearned for grandeur and symbolism, yes, but he was very nostalgic as well. It is my belief that he would have searched for something from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor to complete his trophy collection. And, I do have compelling evidence that Voldemort stumbled upon a cup that had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, herself. Again, this occurred while he worked at Borgin and Burkes."

"OK," Harry interjected, "So... the locket, the cup and... you think he used something of Ravenclaw's or Gryffindor's?"

"I believe that was his intention, Harry, yes. How successful he was, of course, is yet to be determined," the Headmaster replied pensively.

"Well," Hermione added, "If he did succeed in procuring objects from all four houses, that still leaves one more."

"Yes, Miss Granger, correct. However, I do have my suspicions regarding Voldemort's rather intimate relationship with his familiar, Nagini. I find his connection with her quite pronounced. Wouldn't you agree, Severus? You've witnessed his interaction with the snake first hand. What is your opinion?"

"His snake? Albus, you cannot be serious. Are you telling me that you believe he placed a piece of his soul into that vile creature?" Snape reproached vehemently.

"It would explain his impressive control over her and the ease at which he is able to possess her. And I believe you, yourself, informed me that he seems to be able to communicate with her even without the use of Parseltongue... almost telepathically... I believe is how you phrased it."

"I... I... yes... he can speak to her as though they share a... mind-connection." Snape stammered. His tone was hushed and his voice quavered with agitation. His entire body tensed, his face blanched and he immediately dropped his gaze to the floor. Harry noticed the muscle above his left eye was twitching again.

Harry tore his eyes away from the Potions Master. His noticeable anxiety did nothing for his own rising panic at this news. All he could think about was that attack on Mr. Weasley last year. How he had felt as though HE was the snake... like HE had been the one to bite and tear his flesh. But that wasn't correct; he knew that. The snake was being possessed by Voldemort at the time. And Harry was... somehow... also there. Harry suddenly felt his stomach clench painfully and swallowed hard to keep from being sick. They were discussing Nagini's link to Voldemort, not his. But... it felt... so similar. He could also be possessed by Voldemort, just like Nagini could. Harry remembered the unbearable pain of Voldemort taking over his body, his thoughts... whispering to him inside his own mind.

Hermione dragged Harry from his inner-terror when she posed another question to the Headmaster. "So, Professor, we know about the locket, and we're fairly certain about the cup and the snake... but do you have any idea what items he might have used that had belonged to either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw?"

"No, Miss Granger, I am afraid not. Your guess is as good as mine."

"But how do we destroy the horcruxes, once we have them?" she persisted, "I mean, I know Harry destroyed the diary with a basilisk fang, but we can't very well use fangs on all of them, can we? There must be other ways..."

"Unfortunately, there only a few viable ways to destroy a horcrux. Basilisk venom is one of them. And thanks to Harry's heroic escapade in the Chamber of Secrets, we are fortunate to have a uniquely qualified weapon that is also highly effective in the endeavor, the Sword of Gryffindor, which just happens to be infused with the giant snake's poison. It proved very beneficial to me in my time of need." Dumbledore informed them, while raising his blackened finger to indicate the now harmless ring upon it.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Ron exclaimed unexpectedly, "Couldn't we just summon the sword here somehow? We could have Harry call for Kreacher, ask him to bring the locket here! We could destroy the locket right now and be done with another one of the foul things!"

"Mr. Weasley, I'm afraid that would not be wise," Dumbledore replied calmly, "Even if I were able to call forth the Sword of Gryffindor, which is doubtful as I am not presently in mortal peril nor am I engaged in a valiant act of chivalry, the threat of imminent danger is far too great to risk."

"Danger?" Ron countered, "What danger? Don't we just stab it with the bloody sword?"

Dumbledore breathed a heavy, encumbered sigh in response, exhibiting more fatigue and melancholy than when they had begun this discourse. "Ah… if only it were that simple, Mr. Weasley. Regrettably, horcruxes possess many unpredictable and often nefarious methods by which to defend themselves."

"Defend themselves?" Ginny questioned nervously, "What do you mean… defend themselves?"

"You see, Miss Weasley, the fragment of soul residing within a horcrux, in its most basic form, is a sentient entity, not unlike the human being from which it came, and it is endowed with a strong survival instinct. It can sense impending danger and will react in an effort to save itself from destruction. When faced with that which has the ability to destroy it, when it senses even the slightest threat to its survival, it will fight back. Its defense may manifest as a physical assault, emotional torment, mental persecution or the horcrux may simply attempt to flee from the threat, making its elimination quite a challenge."

At the close of Dumbledore's elucidation, Harry once again felt his panic spike. He glanced up to peer into Snape's dark eyes, hoping to find reassurance within their shadowy depths. Harry was surprised to see the Potions Master already fixedly staring at him. He had a hollow, haunted look in his eyes that emanated some profound, yet undefined sorrow. Snape rose from his seat silently, abruptly, and bolted from the sitting room, vanishing behind the immurement of his room. The door slamming shut was a deafening crack of heavy oak striking solid frame, and its din reverberated throughout the ghastly silence of the sitting room. Harry glanced at the others, saw their shocked stares trained on the spot where Snape had just disappeared, but felt nearly powerless to follow him, immobilized by the crushing panic consuming him. Ginny grabbed his hand and squeezed gently as Harry struggled to assuage his irregular breathing. Why had his anxiety suddenly escalated? And why did Snape leave so precipitously?

"I… I… I'm… going to check on him…" Harry managed to verbalize despite his shaky tonality, "I need to see if he's OK."

He gradually ascended from his crouched position on the settee and crossed the room apprehensively. When he reached Snape's door, he paused and leaned his burning forehead on its cool wooden surface, soothing the heightening ache in his scar. He rapped on the door quietly and whispered into the slight gap between the door and the jamb, "Professor? Can… can I come in?"

Harry heard no response, but proceeded to push the heavy door forward and slowly enter the room. Snape stood in the far corner, trance-like, eyes fixed on the flickering candle atop a writing desk whose surface was still burdened by the Headmaster's frayed and ancient tomes. Harry approached him cautiously, unnerved by the man's vacant expression.

"Professor? Are… are you alri-"

"What caused your panic last night, Harry?"

"Wh-what?" Harry asked, feeling even more uneasy as Snape continued to avoid his gaze while he spoke, his dark eyes still transfixed on the tiny flame's transmutation.

"Just before your attack. I was attempting to explain to you how a horcrux can be destroyed. You became frightened, and you withdrew from me. Why?"

Harry swallowed past the dread rising in his throat and wrung his hands together agitatedly as he searched his conscious mind for some way to explain away the odd, stifling panic that overtook him the night before. He took a few unavailing gulps of air and plunged into some sort of explanation for his behavior.

"I… I was just nervous, that's all. I mean… all this horcrux stuff… it was just getting to me."

Snape remained silent, so Harry continued with his faltering excuse, "It's only because I'm stressed. It… It's not… I'm not… I mean… everything's fine now."

Harry's words concluded in a tremulous whisper, his hushed voice cracking under the weight of his growing alarm. He chanced another glance at Snape, desperate now for relief from the aggressive fear gripping him, nearly suffocating him. Snape turned slowly to face him. Harry was astonished to see tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. The hollow, vacant expression was gone now, replaced with a look of calamitous grief.

Snape drew closer to Harry, diminishing the space between them, and pulled Harry's quivering form into his arms. The professor held him tightly, but remained silent for a long time. Harry focused on the the man's quiet, unsteady breaths and tried to take comfort from the arms encircling him. And as the quietude of the moment pressed hard upon this despairing exigence for sanctuary, Harry reluctantly acquiesced to the cruel, frightening truth of the matter…

No... everything was not fine.

**Well, I got a bit carried away with that chapter... my longest one yet! It was difficult to stop once I got into the groove.**

**We're getting close to the big finish, guys… only a few chapters remain. So, stay tuned. Next chapter will be up before the end of next week. I'm going away the following week,**

**so it WILL be posted before that! :)**

**I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, so please review!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

A direful chill invaded Harry's senses as Snape gradually released him from their embrace. Harry let his gaze linger for a moment on the professor's arms steadily withdrawing, resolving instead to hang lifeless at his sides. His long, thin fingers were shaking slightly as they curled into tightly clenched fists. Harry lifted his head slowly, uncertainly, and sought the dark, cavernous eyes of the man he had come to rely on for comfort and strength. As a desolate tear slid languidly down Harry's flushed cheek, he peered up into the man's anguished mien, imploring him for some reprieve from the inexorable, sickening truth that was rapidly enclosing them, tightening its oppressive stranglehold. But none came. A hopeless silence pervaded the room. Neither spoke. Both remained in perpetual stasis, completely motionless, except for the insistent tears falling unhindered from two pairs of grief-stricken eyes.

Snape shut his eyes, transgressing the inertia, and breathed deeply as if to ease his wavering resolve. After only a moment, he relaxed his clenched fists and with trembling fingers, wiped the grievous tears from his pallid face. When he peered into Harry's tearful eyes once again, it was with poorly-concealed despair.

"I will speak with the Headmaster, Harry... alone." he whispered breathily.

"No... no, Professor," Harry answered, voice breaking under the burden of his anxiety, "...not without me. I need to be there. I... I... need to know. This is about me... and... and _him_...and..."

"Harry..."

"NO! I _need_ to know! And we're not supposed to be keeping secrets, remember? That's why we're here. I just... I just... God, I just need to know the truth! Can't you understand that?" Harry insisted. He glanced back at Snape intently, entreating the man to comprehend; this secret must be exposed. Harry had to know once and for all... had to hear this one last dreadful truth. No matter how much he would like to deny its veracity and ignore its authenticity, he had to know who... or what he was. Because he knew damn well this... this similarity... this link... it COULDN'T be a coincidence. He knew it... and so did Snape.

Snape stared hard at Harry's determined features, studying the mask of Gryffindor courage that barely obscured his discernible fear and was woefully inadequate in shrouding the panic emanating from his brilliant green eyes. The Potions Master expelled an erratic sigh and lifted his hand to place it gently on Harry's tear-strewn cheek. He said nothing as he scanned Harry's emphatic demeanor, but seemed to acquiesce. He offered a reluctant nod while he tenderly swept his thumb along Harry's cheekbone, clearing away a solitary, lamented tear. After releasing another slow, unsteady breath, Snape turned away from Harry, leading the way back out toward the sitting room and the awaiting Headmaster, who was still ensconced in the chair by the hearth.

They approached Dumbledore together, striding across the room side by side. Snape's hand gripped Harry's shoulder the entire way, rendering comfort and encouragement. Harry avoided the Headmaster's gaze as they neared him, instead he stared vacantly into the animated flames within the hearth, so alive, so tenacious. Harry grimaced as he watched them cavort and flicker, as if boasting their vitality. How easy would it be to extinguish this energetic blaze, eliminate all its liveliness, destroy this spirited dance? Would his life be eradicated just as effortlessly... if it needed to be... if he needed to die...?

Harry continued his aloof behavior as he reclaimed his seat next to Ginny. He abandoned his preoccupied scrutiny of the fire and altered his gaze to stare blankly at the floor. He wasn't ready to look upon the questioning faces of his friends. Not yet. He just couldn't bear to witness their unyielding concern for him... not now that there existed this harsh inevitability of a resident evil lingering menacingly within him.

"H-H-Harry?" Hermione uttered timidly, "Is... Is everything alright?"

Harry's head jerked up to Snape's in silent supplication, praying for the man to interpret his desperate plea. He could not have this conversation with his friends in the room. He knew he would break down completely if he were forced to see their expressions twist into desolate hopelessness and grief.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley and Miss Weasley, please excuse us for a moment," Snape commanded in reaction to Harry's unspoken request, "The Headmaster, Harry and I need to discuss a matter that... does not concern you at this time."

"HELL NO! We're not leaving him! He's obviously freaked out about something!" Ron shouted, "He needs us!"

"Ron... please... just go," Harry whispered, eyes still emphatically trained on the floorboards.

"But Harry..."

"GO!" Harry wailed as he forcibly grated his fingernails across his scalp, contorting his fingers around clumps of ebony hair and clenching them firmly, painfully into fists. Harry heard nothing more from his friends save the padding of their exiting feet. When the echoes of their footsteps ebbed and was finalized by the click of a closing door, Harry looked up from his obsessive inspection of the floor. Snape had moved into a kneeling position in front of him and was reaching for his hands, still desperately grasping at his hair. Snape's fingers encircled his wrists lightly, encouraging Harry to let go of his mounting tension. Harry obeyed the professor's prompting and released his trembling grip. Snape looked directly into Harry's timorous eyes and whispered softly, just audible enough for Harry alone to decipher, "Harry... I will be right here... no matter what the Headmaster tells us. I will NOT abandon you. Do you understand me?"

Harry felt his eyes prickle, threatening to betray his resolve not to lose control. He had to get through this. But the sincerity in the professor's reassurance only added to his heartache. He nodded, and inhaled deeply, trying to center himself. Appeased by Harry's attempt to temper his anxiety, Snape rose from the floor and took Ginny's abandoned seat beside him. Only then did Harry look up and meet the piercing blue gaze of the Headmaster who seemed to have renounced his usual twinkle of hope in favor of an expression of fraught apprehension. As if divining the inevitable tempest of emotion, Snape brandished his wand and in one swift motion, cast a silencing charm on the somber trio. Indeed, Harry thought, the worst was yet to come.

Snape took a shuddering breath and issued the impassioned plea in a quavering tone so unlike his normal assertive resonance, "Albus... the truth, please." His voice cracked on the last word, and Snape buried his face in his hands, unable to continue.

Harry turned back to look at the elderly wizard's tired and worn expression, and searched the eyes that had always conveyed hope and a breadth of knowledge, answers, solutions... remedies to avoid any impending tragedy. But Harry saw only misery within the sapphire depths. Misery and defeat.

"Professor Dumbledore... please, I need to know," Harry implored, voice faltering, "I... I... I'm... one of them... one of the seven. Aren't I?"

The Headmaster allowed his heavily lined lids to fall slowly over his weary eyes, concealing his demoralization. He released a dejected breath, laden with pain and overwrought with a hundred surreptitious burdens contributing to a lifetime of reticence. Slowly, he opened his eyes and pierced Harry with a dismal stare.

"I'm... so sorry, Harry. Yes... you are one of the seven."

Harry's head crumpled into his shaking hands, and an anguished, tortured moan fell from his pale lips. He had suspected it, yes, and had even begun to believe it, but to hear the words... to be faced with the irrefutable truth… it was nearly unbearable. Part of Voldemort lived within him, sheltered by his own treacherous body and sustained by his life-giving blood. He swallowed past the bile rising in his throat and fought to curb his raging disgust. He felt dirty... tainted... contaminated by the monster who had haunted his nightmares and plagued his reality ever since he was a small child.

Harry turned his head to the side and glanced at Snape. He hadn't moved at all. He was still hunched over beside him with his face obscured by his hands. Harry peered through a small space amid his quaking fingers and saw that his eyes were squeezed tightly shut as if blindness could shun the vile truth, make it less virulent.

"You were the horcrux he never intended to create, Harry. When Voldemort's killing curse backfired, denied its target by your mother's abiding sacrifice, a fragment of his soul, already splintered and unstable, broke apart from its remaining entity and secured itself onto you. Your scar delineates its violent incursion. This is why you can speak parseltongue and how you are able to share a mental connection with him. A part of his soul lives within you."

"So..." Harry spoke softly, hesitantly, " So... I... I have to die."

"NO!" Snape anguished, "No, Albus, I will NOT let Harry sacrifice himself... No... there... must be another way... I will not let him die!"

"Severus, the horcruxes must be destroyed in order to ensure..."

"DAMN IT, OLD MAN... he is not some inanimate object that can be tossed aside! He is just a boy, for God's sake... AND I WILL NOT ALLOW HIM TO BE EXTERMINATED!" Snape thundered, as he rose from the settee and loomed threateningly over the aged wizard. His face was reddened with anger and his fists were clenched tautly at his sides. Harry had never seen such feral volatility from his professor. His livid mien seemed to pulsate with righteous indignation. And his normally apathetic eyes were alight with barely restrained wrath.

Dumbledore closed his eyes in an obvious attempt to lessen his sorrow and stall the irate man before him. After a moment, the Headmaster seemed to return from his interlude, and he spoke again.

"There will come a time, after we have successfully eliminated the other horcruxes, when Harry must resign himself to his fate. He must surrender himself to Voldemort... go to him willingly... and allow him to cast the killing curse..."

"Albus... HAVE YOU LOST YOUR BLOODY MIND? He will NOT be going anywhere near the Dark Lord!" Snape shouted, "You're MAD! And you're not listening to me! I will NOT LET HARRY DIE!"

"Severus... let me finish..."

"NO! I have heard ENOUGH! I will not permit this cruel... this heartless… _resolution_... this _fate… _that you have so readily contrived. And if that means that I must take him away from you... from you and the Dark Lord in order to keep him safe... then so be it!"

Harry reached up with a trembling hand and seized hold of Snape's white-knuckled fist. He tugged faintly on the clenched, quavering hand, causing the fuming man to momentarily disregard the Headmaster and turn his attention to Harry. He responded to Harry's silent request, as he knelt down in front of him once again and repeated his vehement promise in a hushed, yet forthright tone.

"I won't let you die," He murmured his resolve softly, yet the slight tremor in his voice spoke of an insurmountable despair.

Harry shook his head sternly in response. "P-P-Professor, please listen… if… if it's the only way to kill him… I'll do it. I'll go to him… I'll let him kill me."

"No, Harry… no… we'll find another way. I…I won't… I can't lose you…" Snape pleaded, his breath hitching as he struggled to verbalize his final impassioned words.

"Severus…" Dumbledore interrupted, "I believe there is a likely chance that Harry may survive Voldemort's killing curse, just as he did in Godric's Hollow nearly fifteen years ago. If my theory is correct, only the horcrux that lies within Harry will be destroyed by the curse, leaving the rest of him unscathed."

Snape's head immediately snapped up, and he countered Dumbledore's auspicious statement with a fierce, skeptical look, dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. He withdrew from his crouched position facing Harry, and reclaimed his place on the settee. His tenebrous glare never veered from the Headmaster's mild expression, as he entwined his long fingers in his lap and bowed his head minutely, curtly, as if to compel the elderly wizard's continuance.

"Explain," He urged.

"Lily Evans died so that her only son may live. This is very ancient, very potent magic. Her unyielding sacrifice of love endures. It thrives and prospers. And from her abiding sacrifice, was born a powerfully resilient protection bestowed upon her son. This protection survives within Harry. It exists in the very blood that flows through his veins. And it is this blood, containing her sacrifice, that Voldemort foolishly pilfered for his own selfish, cruel use to generate a new living body. But unbeknownst to him, when he took Harry's blood, he also took a small part of Lily's sacrifice. And that protection born from her sacrifice now resides within Voldemort as well. If he casts the killing curse on Harry once more, he will inevitably destroy that which remains without protection, the horcrux, however Lily's protection residing within Voldemort, may be enough to tether Harry to life… shield him from death once again."

"It MAY be enough?" Snape raged, "You're willing to risk Harry's life on the mere possibility of survival? And if you're wrong, Albus? What then?"

"If I am wrong... then Harry will still have done the right thing."

Snape was instantly on his feet again, his body shuddering with outage. He pointed a long, trembling finger into Dumbledore's sorrowful face and bared his teeth, glowering hostilely.

"All this time, Albus! You've been keeping him safe, protecting him from the Dark Lord... just so that he may one day willingly put himself in mortal peril on the mere _possibility_ that Lily's sacrifice will be strong enough to save him from death… a sacrifice that exists as a few meager drops of blood flowing through the Dark Lord's veins. No. No, Albus. I will not permit Harry to..."

"This is a risk that Harry alone must brave. You cannot make this decision for him," Albus interjected rigidly, "He is not your son, Severus."

"STOP IT! Stop it, both of you!" Harry cried out, silencing them. He leapt from the settee, enraged and completely overwhelmed. He stared from one to the other, his bottle green eyes fiery, alive with an ironic viability. He looked into the faces of the two men who had always protected him and were now quarreling over the feasibility of his continued existence. And fear washed over him as he realized the bitter truth of the situation. It WAS his decision. This deliberate compliance to walk into death's open arms could only happen if he, and he alone, agreed to it. Snape obviously considered the risk too great. The Headmaster believed he needed to take this chance, regardless of the danger involved. But... it didn't matter what they thought. Not really. Only he could determine his own fate.

He turned to Dumbledore and broke the ensuing silence, "Headmaster, thank you for telling me the truth. But I need to speak with Professor Snape about this... alone."

Dumbledore said nothing, but ascended from his chair and traversed the room. When the heavy oak door imparted its closure, Harry turned to face his Potions Professor.

"Harry..."

"Please, Professor... just let me speak. If it were you, and not me... if it were you that harbored a piece of Voldemort's soul... would you do this? Would you sacrifice yourself to help bring him down? Knowing that you would be saving people's lives by doing it?"

Snape shook his head dismissively, "You have no way of knowing that by doing this, you would be saving lives, Harry"

Harry swiftly snatched the parchment off the table between them and scanned the missive briskly, searching for the right passage. When he found it he eyed Snape defiantly and read its edifying revelation.

_My purpose in sequestering you here, is to bring about the opportunity, not only to end this war sooner, but to enable the six of you to work together to save lives, some of whom are in this very room._

"Some of whom are in this very room… Professor, what if it means Ron, Hermione or Ginny... or you? I couldn't bear it if any of you died because I refused to take this risk! I have to let him destroy the horcrux inside of me... even if it means that I may perish as well. Professor... you know I have to do this. You know it."

Snape took a long, labored breath and held it, dropping his head in defeat. Slowly, he lifted his gaze, exhaled shakily and pierced Harry with a wounded expression. He seized Harry's shoulders and pulled him to his chest, holding him tightly as if by doing so he could somehow ensure Harry's well-being, "The old man better be right about this," He whispered, "I don't know what I'd do if..."

"You'll let me do it then?" Harry asked as he pulled back from the embrace and gazed up into Snape's jet-black eyes, coruscating with unshed tears.

Snape tensed slightly and averted his eyes from Harry, choosing instead to scrutinize his own pale, trembling fingers, wringing them together fitfully, "The Headmaster was correct about that, Harry. I… I had no right to make this decision for you…no right to assume responsibility over you. I'm not… you're not my son."

Harry approached the professor timidly and settled his hand lightly on Snape's twisting hands, stilling their agitated gesticulations. He looked up into the dark eyes which now seemed to intimate a profound emptiness, as if stripped of all hope.

"No, I'm not your son. But you… you're the closest thing I have to a father right now. And although I have no real memory of what it was like to be loved by my Dad… I… I imagine it's very much like this. I need you right now. Please, professor, I need to do this, but… I'm afraid. And I'm worried that if you don't support me in this… I won't have the strength to do it. Please… I just… just can't do this unless you're OK with it."

"Harry, I will never be OK with this. But…." Snape took a deep breath and carted his long fingers through his ebony hair nervously, before returning his attention to Harry, "But…. yes. I will let you."

Harry lunged at the man, hugging him with absolute abandon, "Thank you…"

"However, the details of this foolish endeavor have yet to be formulated. But I do hope you realize that you will NOT be doing this alone," Snape admonished, "I will be with you."

"What?" Harry replied, pulling away to glare determinedly at Snape, "No… What if…?"

"This is NOT open for negotiation, Harry!" Snape rebuked sharply, "It is this or nothing."

Harry conceded defeat. He recognized the Potions Master's undaunted countenance of finality. He had been privy to that look several times as his student. His stance on the matter was obviously immovable. Harry nodded reluctantly while a fresh wave of fear eclipsed what little resolve he had been clinging to. He was terrified at the thought of Snape putting his life even more at risk because of him. This was about saving lives, not jeopardizing them.

As if deciphering Harry's latest panic, Snape's obstinate expression abated and was replaced with one of deep affection. And Harry was surprised to see the corners of Snape's lips turn up slightly in what could almost be construed as a smile.

"What… what are you smiling about?" Harry inquired, puzzled by the unexpected display.

"You. You… amaze me. I just cannot comprehend how I was able to convince myself for so many years that you were a selfish, arrogant brat…" He shook his head and stalled, searching for the right words, "Even in the face of… such personal danger… you still only fear for those you love."

Harry returned his gentle smile and asked, "like… like my mother?"

"Yes," He admitted, "Just like Lily."

With that, Snape straightened himself to his most upright and forbidding pose. He took a deep, steadying breath and he fixed Harry with a serious stare. When he spoke, it was with a resounding assertiveness.

"You do realize, Harry, that you must inform your friends about this. You will need them now more than ever."

"I don't… think I can do that," Harry admitted shaking his head with renewed panic, voice trembling again at the very thought of divulging this last, horrifying truth.

"Look at me, Harry," Snape commanded, and Harry obeyed, "Don't push them away. Trust them. Trust them to love you enough to get past their pain and be there for you. They love you, Harry. Let them love you."

Swallowing hard against the constricting lump in his throat, Harry could only nod, mutely, his voice suddenly failing him.

"And Harry…" Snape added faintly, his tone soft and suddenly more warm than Harry could ever recall it being, "You should tell her how you feel."

"Huh? What do you… Who?" Harry replied, utterly flustered.

Snape mouth curled into a smile again, and a low chortle rumbled from him, as if whole-heartedly amused by Harry's confused state.

"Miss Weasley, of course. I assume that she is the only girl you are currently head over heels for, but perhaps I was wrong."

"Well… yes. I mean, I think I am… but… I… wait, what was your question?"

The chortle became an outright laugh, and Harry's face flushed with embarrassment.

"Harry… I said that you would do well to tell Miss Weasley how you feel about her. Don't keep it inside," Snape's amusement with Harry's stammering dissolved rapidly with the emergence of a pained, sorrowful look adorning those perpetual obsidian eyes, "Don't make the same mistake I made with your mother."

"But…" Harry whispered, "What if… what if I don't survive this? I can't… I can't put her through that. I can't tell her I love her and then just… leave her."

Snape winced at the mention of Harry's precarious mortality and sighed deeply before replying, "I never told your mother. Never. She knew, I think. At the very least, she suspected. But I… never found the courage to just sit her down and tell her how much I loved her. Harry, don't do that… don't wait. If you love Miss Weasley, you should tell her. We can never truly predict what lies ahead for us, for any of us. But… life is too precious… too fragile… to waste time hiding behind a mask of impassivity. I should know."

One again Harry resigned himself to nod in response, feeling as though any words would simply be inadequate. Snape settled his hand on Harry's cheek affectionately, before his fingers traveled down to his chin, gripping it lightly. He applied firm pressure, coaxing Harry to fix his gaze upward. When their eyes met again, Snape imparted one final directive.

"Go talk to your friends."

Snape's fingers released Harry's chin and found their way to his untidy mop of raven hair, carting through the strands in an loving caress. Harry closed his eyes at the touch, taking comfort from the affectionate gesture. When he opened his eyes, Snape withdrew his hand, nodded once and strode from the sitting room and into his room, leaving Harry to tread through a torrent of emotional impediments.

Harry's legs seemed to move on their own accord, and before long he found himself facing the door to the girls' room, behind which Harry knew all three of his friends were anxiously awaiting him. He rested his trembling hand on the doorknob, and paused, feeling that familiar panic return, pressing in on him, gaining momentum. Harry clamped his eyelids together securely to shut out the surging fear that threatened to annihilate his fading self-control. He could feel his heart hammering, pounding fiercely, ringing in his ears. His breathing diminished into desperate gasps.

"No," he whimpered, as a sickening sibilation hissed its odious intent...

_You and I are the same, Harry. We are one. You will never be free of me._

"No... please... please... stop."

_They'll be disgusted with you, Harry. You are defiled... stained... infected... You are nothing but a freak...nothing but an evil, wicked, dangerous, soulless... freak. They will turn away from you. They will be repulsed by you..._

"No!" Harry cried, tears pouring from his burning eyes. He took several sporadic steps back from the door and shook his head forcefully against the sinister voice in his head. Panting and moaning against the unbearable pain in his forehead, Harry crushed the heels of his hands roughly against his tearful eyes. He dug his nails into the pale flesh above his scar, drawing blood, as a dangerous delirium gripped him. He staggered into the infirmary, slammed the door behind him and pulled out his wand... _"Colloportus!" _

His wand clattered to the floor as Harry flung open the potions cabinet and rummaged desperately through the vials, "Where is it? Where the fuck…?"

Harry groaned in relief upon spotting his target, while his quivering, blood-stained fingers curled around the familiar potion. He knew Snape would be furious with him, but... he needed to drown out the voice, to forget, to... to stop thinking... feeling...

With trembling fingers, he pulled out the stopper, downing the liquid in one gulp. And as the relentless pain and anger continued to tighten its hold, coursing through him like the blood sustaining the evil inside him, Harry threw the glass container against the wall, shattering it, and unleashed an agonizing scream of deep despair. His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the floor, convulsing and gasping for breath.

"HARRY!" Snape's terrified voice bellowed from beyond the door, _"Alohamora!"_

Harry lifted his head just in time to see the professor plow through the magically-opened door and slump onto the floor next to him. He pulled Harry's malleable, shaking body into his arms and frantically scanned the room, eyes quickly zeroing in on the fragments of glass strewn across the floor around them. He wrenched Harry up to look into his eyes, which were rapidly losing focus.

"What did you take? Harry! ANSWER ME!"

"D-D-Dreamless Sleep... only one vial... professor, I... I'm sorry..." Harry whimpered, and slumped against his chest, feeling the affects of the potion begin to sway him.

"Professor Snape! What's wrong with Harry? Is it... another attack?" Ginny's frantic plea reverberated in Harry's ears and his heart ached for her... for the suffering he had already caused her... and for the pain he had yet to bestow upon her.

"You three... OUT! Right now!" Snape barked angrily.

Harry felt arms surrounding him, pulling him closer, and he was only vaguely aware of those arms lifting him off the floor and placing him gently onto the bed. He blinked and squinted his eyes to sharpen his focus. Snape left his side briefly, but returned with a cool, damp cloth which he used to wipe away the blood from his throbbing scar.

"Don't EVER do that again," Snape murmured quietly, "Do you understand me? If you had grabbed the wrong potion... if you had taken too much..."

Snape's voice faltered and Harry could just make out a faint tremor along his lower lip.

"I'm so sorry... I just... don't want to hear him in my head anymore... I... I... don't want him... inside me... anymore..." Harry slurred, breathed deeply and, gradually, his heavy lids fell across weary, green eyes, as sleep began to claim him.

"Shhh... Sleep, Harry" came the placid timbre of sorrowful susurration, lulling him into an interim serenity.

**Okay. Whew! That was a tough one to write. Very emotional. I think I actually teared up a few times while writing it!**

**Chapter 17 will take longer to post. I am going away on vacation next week, where I will NOT be writing! So, my best guess for an ETA on that chapter would be maybe June 27th or 28th. **

**But, please stay tuned... up next: Ron, Hermione and Ginny find out the truth about Harry AND they'll be some sweet Harry/Ginny moments as well!**

**PLEASE REVIEW! :)**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

"Mmmm…" Harry thrummed lazily. A muscle near his right eye twitched faintly, as a soft, silken caress grazed along the contour of his cheek, unhurried, rousing him from his tempered slumber, "Huh?... Wha... ?"

"Wake up, sleepy-head," came the lilting whispered reply, warm breath flitting over his skin. Harry opened his bleary eyes sluggishly, just in time to glimpse a flash of crimson as Ginny's lips withdrew from his ear causing her long hair to play about his face. Harry squinted, trying to focus on her benevolent, mahogany eyes while relishing the exquisite feel of her delicate fingers carting through his hair.

"Ginny? Wha... What are you doing in here?"

"Waking you up, of course!" She answered, louder this time and somewhat tersely. Harry propped himself up onto one elbow while his other hand gracelessly fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table. When he finally located them and placed them on, bringing the world into a modicum of clarity, he gazed back at her, expecting to lose himself once more in her kind eyes. He was surprised, however, when he was met with a blazing, irascible expression on her petite, freckled face.

"Professor Snape asked me to come in here and see if I could wake you. He seems to think that you've slept long enough. And I agree with him," she reprimanded while folding her arms defiantly across her chest and lifting her chin slightly in a show of blatant recalcitrance. She stood up swiftly and shifted her weight to her left hip. And for the second time since their arrival in the Room of Requirement, Harry was uncomfortably reminded of an irate Mrs. Weasley. Harry gulped, attempting to bypass the sudden tightness in his throat.

"You're angry with me, right?...Ginny?"

"It's Thursday morning… in case you're curious... nine-thirty. You missed breakfast again," She replied tonelessly, avoiding his question, as her attention shifted to an errant piece of glass laying forgotten on the floor. Harry mimicked her meaningless inspection of the fragment from the smashed potion vial, an indecent reminder of Harry's tantrum from the day before.

"Anyway... Snape says get up. He's set aside some leftover sausages and eggs for you. He says you need to eat."

Harry's eyes darted away from the glimmering sliver of glass and returned their regard to Ginny's tense expression. Her lower lip was trembling slightly now, and Harry was quite certain she would soon succumb to tears. He despised how adversely all of this affected her. She deserved better than this. She deserved to care for someone unblemished... someone who did not bear the stigma of perversion... someone free to love her... make her happy...

"Well... I... I don't really feel like eating right now. Sorry, Gin..." His response was profusely apathetic, and Harry evaded her burning look by slumping back into the mattress and shutting his stinging eyes. He turned away from her and rolled over onto his side, facing the opposite wall and pulling the covers back over himself, "Tell Professor Snape I'm not feeling well enough to get up yet. Tell him... I'm going back to sleep for a while…"

"No... I don't think so," Ginny rebuked angrily. She snatched the bedspread and linens that Harry had been attempting to conceal himself under and yanked... hard... causing Harry to careen unceremoniously onto the hardwood floor and gaze up, stunned, into her livid, flushed face.

"You are GETTING UP! And you are going to stop with all this SHIT, HARRY POTTER!" She vociferated furiously.

Dazed and slightly mystified by her outburst, Harry sat paralyzed on the floor and continued to stare at her, nonplussed, while she proceeded with her tirade.

"You listen to me, Harry, and you listen closely... Ron, Hermione and I know that something serious is going on here! And we know you're keeping whatever it is from us. It was obvious yesterday when you all but kicked us out of the sitting room! And, OK... I get that you might have needed some time alone with the Headmaster and Professor Snape, but you should have come to us afterwards and talked to us about what was bothering you! But, no... instead you decided to isolate yourself in this room and avoid us by taking Dreamless Sleep Potion WITHOUT even asking Snape's permission! God, Harry... how many times do we have to tell you that we're here for you?... that we will ALWAYS be here for you... no matter what? And DON'T look at me like that, Harry. Don't you DARE look at me like you're about to tell me everything's fine when I KNOW DAMN WELL THAT IT'S NOT! So... you ARE going to get your ASS out of this bed, Harry James Potter. You're going to get showered and changed and eat breakfast and whatever else you have to do... and then you are going to talk to me, Ron and Hermione... YOUR FRIENDS, Harry... and explain to us what exactly is freaking you out so that we can help you through this!"

She concluded her heated rant by tossing the linens back onto Harry who was still immobilized on the chilled, dusty floor. She turned to leave the room but abruptly spun back around once she reached the door, choosing to voice one final heartfelt plea.

"Harry, please... we love you so much. Please don't keep... whatever this is... from us. You promised us that you would come to us... trust us to help you. Don't go back on that promise now, Harry. Don't push us away."

Ginny vacated the room without another word, leaving Harry feeling utterly abashed and completely overwhelmed. She was right, of course... he knew she was right. But that didn't make this impending disclosure any easier. He almost yearned for someone to cast the truth compulsion spell on him. At least under the influence of _Magnis Veritatem_, he would have no choice but to obey its intense coercion. The words would just fall from his lips, without the hindrance of emotional indecision. He could divulge to his friends the awful truth without the hopeless task of trying to summon the appropriate words that might somehow soften the blow... as if that were even possible. But to voluntarily look directly into his three best friends' eyes and admit that he was destined to, once again, be struck down by Voldemort's killing curse, would be nothing short of torture. It would require a bravery he absolutely did not feel right now... Gryffindor be damned.

Harry ran his fingers through his messy raven locks, scratching at his scalp with his fingernails in agitation, as he clambered up from his impromptu seat next to the abandoned glass shard. Deciding to rid the room of the unwelcome reminder of his fit of rage, Harry bent down, wrested the small piece of glass and carried it over to the rubbish bin in the corner of the room. He was about to pitch the fragment into the canister when he noticed the residual glass remnants in the bottom of the bin. And hidden among the broken shards, lay a discarded flannel, imbrued with deep scarlet stains. _Blood_, Harry realized, _my blood_.

He raised his hand to his forehead and ghosted the underside of his fingertips along his scar, tracing its contour, as a crushing shame suddenly engulfed him that had nothing to do with the madman who had polluted him with his twisted soul. He glanced down once more at the bloodied cloth in the bin and was nearly overcome with love for the people in his life who had shown such unremitting regard for him... Snape, who had wiped away the streaks of blood left after his brutal self-mutilation and had healed the underlying wounds... Ron and Hermione, who had steadily been there by his side through all these years, despite the constant danger and innumerable risks... And Ginny, who cared enough to knock him on his ass in order to make him see sense.

As Harry exited the infirmary and set course for the washroom to shower and change, he took comfort and strength from the resolute devotion and enduring love of his friends. The next few hours would be hell, Harry was certain, but Voldemort was definitely wrong about one thing... his friends would NOT turn away from him. They would NEVER abandon him. He knew that now. And Harry would not allow himself to fall victim to Voldemort's cruel provocation indicating otherwise. Never again would Harry question his friends' irrefutable love. Never.

Harry entered the small washroom and smirked when he realized that the glass fragment was still firmly clutched in his hand. He glanced down at the vitreous memento, and turned it over several times, examining its gleaming luster. And as he admired its jagged edges, so fiercely divergent from its smooth, polished surfaces, and the minuscule daub of blood that marred its winsome luminescent facade, a deeply allegorical understanding permeated his awareness. We may break, but our resolve endures, leaving a complex beauty in the wake of disfiguring adversity.

_Well... _Harry thought wryly, _Tom Riddle's not the only one who can find meaning in a keepsake._

- o - o - o - o - o -

After an invigorating shower and a much needed change of clothing, Harry returned to the infirmary to collect his wand from where he'd left it on the bedside table. He was surprised to find a steaming cup of tea and a warm plate piled high with fried eggs, toast and sausages awaiting him. Beneath the plate lay a note with a familiar, narrow script scrawled upon its surface...

_Harry,_

_I have been informed that a certain spirited, red-headed Gryffindor was successful in her endeavor to wake you this morning. However, I must admit that her assertive resolve comes as no surprise, as I have also been fortunate enough to have known a very similar determined young lady in my youth._

_Considering that your rather impatient friends are anxiously awaiting your arrival in the sitting room, I thought it prudent to leave your breakfast here on the presumption that you would prefer to eat in peace. Please do not skip this meal. You have not been eating properly these last few days, and I have no desire to spend our remaining two days nursing an anemic Boy-Who-Lived back to health. Furthermore, you need not concern yourself over the possibility that your tea may contain illicit additives. I assure you... it is potion-free._

_And Harry, you would do well to remember the advice I imparted to you only yesterday. Tell her how you feel._

_-Professor Snape_

Harry couldn't stop the amused snigger that escaped him as he deciphered the Potion Master's ever-sardonic comments... potion-free tea. Ha! All too soon, however, his smile faded as he recognized the unsettling fact that he must shortly confront his friends who were lingering just beyond his door, determined to learn the truth about this last and worst secret. Best to get it over with, Harry mused.

After devouring three fried eggs, four sausage links, half a piece of toast and all of his potion-free tea, Harry resigned himself to the inevitable. It was time to face his friends. Regardless of how much he dreaded the unavoidable pain he would cause them, they needed to know. They loved him... and he loved them... and...

Harry paused as his introspection deviated from the impending disclosure about his scar, and settled instead on those last five words in Snape's missive... _Tell her how you feel. _And as he pondered Snape's request, an exigent impulse stole through him and he knew, without a doubt, that it was time.

Snape had never taken the risk, never allowed himself to confess his heart's desire to the woman he had loved nearly all of his life. Maybe he had always assumed there would be another opportunity. But that chance never came, and the moment had passed him by, leaving him with the agonizing pain of lamented regret. Harry did not want that to happen to him. He had little control these days over the calamity that was his life, but he could at least tell the girl he loved how he felt about her.

He wrenched open the door and stumbled out into the sitting room where his friends sat nervously on the settees. All three Gryffindors immediately shifted their gazes toward him, trepidation etched on each one of their faces. It was clear from their fearful expressions that they were expecting some harrowing revelation to be bestowed upon them.

Harry took a moment to study his best friends. Ron had his arms snugly wrapped around Hermione's waist, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder, as she leaned back into his chest. Even amid the pressing tension, their love was ever-present, unmistakably evident. And the unexpected burning ache in his chest forced him to realize just how desperately he yearned for that kind of intimate closeness. He craved a real, loving relationship, an unwavering soul bond. He wanted to live… really live… and to love and be loved. He longed for a future, a meaningful existence free from constant danger and unrelenting suffering, and he wanted that future with Ginny. He turned his gaze to the vibrant red-head, noticing that she was fervently reciprocating his perusal. Her penetrating, impassioned eyes were fixed resolutely on Harry, as if searching for a remedy to some nameless affliction within the depths of his brilliant green eyes.

"Ginny... would... would you join me in the infirmary for a minute?" He spoke shyly, his request uttered so faintly that Harry was almost surprised that she had heard him.

"Sure, Harry"

Ginny promptly got up from her spot on the settee, made her way over to Harry and followed him back into the infirmary. Once Harry closed the door behind her, he felt his stomach twist uncomfortably with apprehension. He knew he wanted to do this, but he suddenly found himself fraught with nerves. This was far more difficult than those moments with Cho last year. He had really liked Cho... well, he was attracted to her at least... but with Ginny, it was different. His feelings for her had grown and intensified over the years. What initially began as simply a friendship by association, as Harry had once only viewed her as 'Ron's little sister,' had developed over time into something much more deep and significant. Harry loved her spirit, her unyielding compassion, her fervor for life and, most of all, he loved her beauty. Not the beauty of her appearance, although her attractiveness was undeniable in Harry's opinion, but rather her stunning grace and enduring conviction that fueled her fiery passion and avid exuberance.

"Harry?" Ginny's tone of genuine incertitude pulled him out of his reverie, and he shook his head slightly to shake off his nervousness, "Is it... is it the secret that you've been keeping from us? Is that what you want to talk about? Because... well, I think Ron and Hermione should really be here too..."

"No... no, that's not it. I mean, I am going to talk to you... all three of you... about that. But, I... I needed to tell you something first, Ginny," Harry explained.

"Oh... alright."

Harry moved closer to her and grasped both her hands in his, lacing their fingers. He closed his eyes briefly and took a calming breath, concentrating on the feel of her soft fingertips as they gently caressed the back of his hands, bestowing comfort and easing his disquiet. He took a moment to glance down at their entwined hands and was, for just an instant, distracted by the fine, white scars that stood out in stark relief on the back of his left hand. _I must not tell lies._ Interesting, Harry thought, and ironic that the sole reason he had received the repugnant cicatrix was for telling the truth, yet now... now it seemed to reenforce his resolve for honesty, for emotional disclosure, and somehow lessen his unease.

"Professor Snape was in love with my mother." He began, "But... he never told her how he felt about her. He... he missed his chance," Harry stalled here, and looked deeply into Ginny's eyes. He was not surprised to see a hint of understanding within their depths.

"I don't want that to happen to us, Ginny. I don't want another day to pass by without... without taking my chance... without telling you..." His voice faltered slightly, and his heart was pounding mercilessly in his chest, but he continued, "...without telling you... how much I love you, Ginny."

Ginny swiftly closed the gap between them and engulfed him in an ardent embrace, her cheek resting against his and her warm breath cascading along the shell of his ear, "I love you too, Harry... so much."

Harry was startled to hear a soft groan of relief escape his own lips as he pulled Ginny even closer, feeling the warmth of her body flush against his, reveling in this new intimacy. He removed his trembling hands from around her small form and brought them up to gently rest on either sides of her blushing face, embedding the very tips oh his fingers into her lush scarlet hair and drawing her ever nearer. He studied the intensity within the fathomless depths of her beautiful eyes that now shimmered with euphoric tears, and searched for silent permission. After divining her perfervid assent, Harry tentatively, slowly, brought his lips to hers.

This was not the first time Harry had kissed a girl, but he immediately felt as though what little experience he had, profoundly paled in comparison to the amorous feel of Ginny's warm lips moving against his. Her delicate skin pressing into him, caressing him, was beyond intoxicating, sending electrifying sensations throughout his entire body. His fingers resumed their journey, threading through Ginny's long, silky hair, and once they reached the nape of her neck, Harry pressed faintly, enticingly, drawing her deeper into his kiss. Ginny's lips parted hesitantly and Harry could feel her heated breath over his lips and in his mouth, enamoring his senses. He swallowed her trembling breath eagerly and reciprocated, opening his mouth to her, exploring all of her, devouring her.

Minutes passed... or maybe it was hours... Harry could not be certain. But eventually, reluctantly, Harry curtailed their passion, breaking the enthusiastic kiss. He continued stroking her hair, as he gazed deeply into her eyes which, for the first time in days, emanated a profound contentment. She smiled up at him and sighed, then abruptly narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Why do I get the feeling that what we just shared was meant as a goodbye kiss?" She asked, her voice laced with fear.

"No... I mean... I... I... don't want it to be..." Harry stopped, faltering, desperately searching for the right words to reassure her. But how could he convince her of a serendipitous fate that he wasn't certain of himself?

"Harry? This... this thing you have to tell us," She quavered, "It's... it's really bad... isn't it?"

He wanted to lie, yearned to assuage her anxiety with unconditional promises and unequivocal guarantees, but he knew that he could not deceive her. She deserved to know the truth, all of it. They all did.

"Yes, Ginny. It's... it's bad." Harry lowered his head, turning away from her blazing look that always seemed to be his undoing. She would have none of it, though. She placed her hands on the sides of his face, encouraging impetus, compelling him to meet her eyes once more.

"Harry, no matter what... I love you. OK? Nothing will change that." She whispered, and Harry found himself inexplicably mute, replying to her heartfelt words with a barely perceptible nod. She dropped her right hand and enfolded it with one of Harry's, as she pulled lightly, coaxing him to follow her. He trailed behind her, allowing himself to surrender to her will. They departed from their brief sanctuary in the tiny infirmary and returned to the the sitting room where Hermione and Ron still remained coiled around one another, awaiting their reappearance.

Ginny led them to the settee beside the hearth, opposite from Ron and Hermione, and they both sat down. The atmosphere was thick with rigid stillness and seemed to permeate a restless toxin. No one spoke for quite some time. Harry resolutely stared at Ginny's small hand mantled securely with his, and as several minutes passed in uncomfortable silence, he breathed deeply, attempting to gather his courage in order to divulge this one last, awful truth.

"I... I just want to tell you all... that I'm really sorry about yesterday. I should not have taken the easy way out. I should have come to you... instead of locking myself away like that. I'm really sorry I put you all through that." Harry announced, then felt his throat dry up, knowing what was to come.

"Harry..." Hermione offered, "We understand. You must have been... very stressed. Whatever Professor Dumbledore told you must have been... extremely upsetting and..."

"Hermione... just... please, just let me get through this. OK? I... I just need to tell you the truth." She nodded in silent acquiescence, encouraging his continuance.

Harry took one last, trembling breath, desperate for the strength to proceed, and plunged into the disturbing revelation.

"Voldemort made seven horcruxes... the diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, Nagini, something that had belonged to either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor... and..." Harry's lids fell over his burning eyes, desperately needing to shut out the scene as he forced himself to continue, "...and me. I'm the seventh horcrux."

Harry kept his eyes firmly shut as he heard the horrified and anguished gasps of his friends. And he immediately felt Ginny's arms encircling him, pulling him into a despairing embrace. He returned her hug, pulling her into his chest and holding her tightly. He could feel her warm tears falling from her cheek and cascading down his neck as she quietly wept against his skin. Her teardrops mingled with his own, as he was powerless to stop their rapid descent.

He glanced up hesitantly, despite his aqueous vision, seeking consolation from his best friends. They were holding each other also, wrapped around one another, crying profusely. Hermione's face was buried in Ron's shirt, but even from a distance, Harry could discern her anguished tremors and hear her choking sobs. His eyes locked with Ron, and the fear he saw there nearly destroyed him.

"This... this doesn't mean... it can't mean that you have to..." Ron stopped, swallowed hard and shook his head with an increasing, desperate obstinacy, "NO!... NO, Harry! You... you're not really going to..."

"What?" Hermione choked out, "What are you talking about, Ron?"

"Harry, Damn it! Please tell me you're not going to do this! It isn't fucking worth it!" Ron exclaimed loudly as his face reddened with rage and terror.

"Ron... just... just stop. Just... let me explain..." Harry quickly replied, hoping to calm his friend's growing alarm.

"NO! You listen to me, Harry. You are NOT going to kill yourself just so that sick, snake-faced bastard can be taken down. Do you hear me? I WON'T LET YOU DO THAT!" Ron raged.

"NO!" Ginny and Hermione screamed in unison, and Harry stood up sharply in order to gain some control of the escalating panic pervading the room.

"LISTEN TO ME!" Harry bellowed desperately, "Ron is... sort of right... but not completely. I... I have to bring about the destruction of the horcrux that resides within me. And in order to ensure its destruction, I have to... to go to Voldemort... let him cast the killing curse one me..."

"No... no, please, Harry... don't do this!" Harry heard Ginny's soft whimper and his heart clenched painfully at the thought of causing her so much pain. He bent down in front of her, took her hands into his, and gazed into her desolate, tearful eyes. "Ginny, please let me finish... I... I might survive the curse."

"What? Like you did when you were a baby? Is that possible?" Hermione inquired raptly, suddenly sounding oddly scholarly.

"Yes... it's kind of complicated, but... when Voldemort took my blood in the graveyard, when he was attempting to regenerate a new body, he took some of my mother's sacrifice along with my blood. Professor Dumbledore believes that it might be enough to sort of... bind me to life... as long as Voldemort remains alive. He thinks the horcrux will be eliminated, but that I might survive."

"You _MIGHT_ survive?" Ron questioned incredulously, "Mate... I'm sorry... but I still don't think it's worth the risk. I mean... even if Dumbledore's right, and you DO survive the killing curse... what's to stop him from just casting the Cruciatus Curse on you until you're insane... like the Longbottoms?"

"Professor Snape is going to be there with me." Harry added, "And... I don't know what he's planning but... I highly doubt he would allow that to happen to me."

"But, Harry..." Ron implored.

"No... listen, Ron, it _IS_ worth the risk. Look... I don't want to die! Alright? I want to live! But..." Harry strode purposefully across the sitting room and snatched the parchment off the small table, "But... it _IS_ worth it, Ron. It says right here. We're supposed to be saving lives! If I do this, and it brings about his death sooner... and because of that we end up saving people who otherwise would have perished by his hand... then it IS worth it!"

Harry was shaking now, the parchment trembling in his hand as it hung, useless, at his side. Ginny quietly ascended from the settee and came to stand behind him. She leaned into him, resting her forehead on the back of his shoulder as she slid her hand down his arm in a loving caress. When she reached his fingers, she grasped the parchment, tugged lightly, persuading him to relinquish his quivering hold on it.

All was quiet for several moments, everyone absorbed in this harsh reality, this frighteningly precarious future.

"You're not going to die, Harry." Ginny declared in a hushed tone, barely audible, yet fierce with conviction.

Harry spun around rapidly and peered into her tear-strewn face. She had a strange, triumphant, almost jubilant, expression adorning her features and her eyes were alight with certainty that contrasted greatly with the still-visible tracks from the drying remains of her falling tears.

"What... what do you mean, Gin? How can you be so... so sure?" Harry inquired nervously.

She smiled up at him, and a renewed sense of hope washed over him as she raised the parchment up to his face.

"Because, Harry... it was you... all along. You brought us here... you wrote this letter. You survived the war."

**Thank goodness that chapter is done! That was a tough one. I know... I'm starting to say that about all the chapters I write! But seriously... the more emotional the chapter... the more difficult it is to write! :)**

**Anyway... so sorry it took such a long time to post this one. My vacation held me up quite a bit, but I am back on track now. I am only planning ONE MORE CHAPTER. Chapter 18 will end the story, guys. It will be the big "wrap up"...so to speak. And I expect to be done with it by Thursday or Friday of next week. I have been asked if I will write a sequel to Magnis. And the truth is that I have not yet decided. But I have certainly NOT ruled it out.**

**As always... I would GREATLY appreciate hearing from you. PLEASE REVIEW! :D**

**Oh... and BTW... my sincere apologies to all my fellow Severus/Harry fans that I was unable to write any interaction between our favorite pairing in this chapter. But I PROMISE lots in the final chapter. So... stay tuned.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

"What? You think a future version of me wrote this letter?" Harry questioned, completely taken aback by Ginny's startling conjecture, "That's... that's... crazy, Ginny! I mean, I thought maybe Professor Snape... or, I don't know, perhaps Lupin or Kingsley... but not... not me!"

"It IS you, Harry!" Ginny pressed, "Here... look at the script. It's your handwriting!"

Harry seized the parchment from her outstretched hand and studied the small cramped scrawl intently, searching for a trace of familiarity. It was definitely sloppy and a little difficult to read like his handwriting, but Harry did not notice any recognizable similarities beyond that.

"Ginny, I'm sorry, but I really don't think I could have written this," He confessed solemnly.

"Harry, let me see it," Hermione offered, finally pulling away from Ron's comforting embrace and approaching Harry and Ginny, "God knows I've corrected more than enough of your essays to know exactly what your handwriting looks like."

She took the parchment from Harry and scanned its missive keenly. Her eyes, still swollen and red from crying, were fiercely attenuated and fixed determinedly on the page, seeking verification.

"The slope's not quite right. Harry's script tends to incline as he writes. This person's writing stays flat all the way across the page. And the slant is completely wrong. Harry writes more or less straight up and down. If anything, it has a minor forward tilt. But this writing leans back." She explained, sounding every bit the accomplished analyst.

"Hermione..." Ginny admonished in an exasperated huff. She briskly stalked across the room and stood beside her so that they could both have access to the note, "Look closely at the bottom of all the lowercase **g's** and **y's**. The loops are really tiny but their tails extend down really far… just like Harry's! And here, in the header, where his name is written… come on, Hermione! Look, I realize that he must have somehow charmed the damn thing to disguise his writing, but that's how Harry writes his name... the capital **H** and the lowercase **r**…. look at how the crossbar of the **H** extends way beyond the letter and the way the lowercase **r's** are always printed instead of handwritten! That's uniquely Harry, regardless of whatever concealment spell he's used to mask its distinctiveness! Why I didn't think to look at this letter earlier this week, I have no idea. It would have saved me several anxiety attacks!"

Hermione's focused squinting increased as she inched toward the parchment further, her nose nearly touching the paper as she reconsidered her supposition in light of Ginny's additional evidence. Her eyes flew back and forth across the page frenetically, finally halting their agitated inspection and fixing onto a single point of interest.

"Oh my God! It IS his handwriting!" She exclaimed, "Harry, Ginny's right! The script has definitely been altered, but look at our names at the top. I've seen you write my name and Ron's name at least a thousand times and… yes, I'm sure of it…. this was written by you!"

For the second time in the span of only a few minutes, Harry snatched the parchment away from one of his friends hoping to discover its secret author. He carefully studied the names now, hoping for recognition. His heart began to race when he finally noticed what Hermione and Ginny were referring to… the minuscule, almost nonexistent, narrow looping of the lowercase **y's** and the exaggerated, hastily drawn connecting bars of the uppercase **H's**… this writing did resemble his own. His pulse sped up even further when his gaze traveled down to the bottom of the original missive… _The room is tuned to Harry's magical signature. It will provide you all with anything you should need. Harry need only ask._

"Hermione…" Harry voiced, "This part at the end of the letter, about the room being tuned to my magical signature, is it even possible to manipulate the Room of Requirement to correlate to somebody else's magic? I mean… if I wrote the letter and invented the magic that made all of this possible… then it sort of makes sense that I would connect the magic with my own distinctive magical signature, doesn't it?"

"Harry, I know very little about what would be required to influence the magic of this room, but your theory really does sound plausible," She replied inquisitively, "Oh, wait a minute! Actually, Harry, I think we can test your theory!"

"Test it? What are you on about Hermione?" Ron inquired eagerly as he bounded off the settee and joined the others in the middle of the room, not even bothering to conceal his fevered anticipation.

"Well… the letter mentions that Harry only needs to ask if he should need anything, right?" Hermione expounded earnestly, "So it stands to reason that if he should ask the room to, say, remove whatever concealment charms are placed on this letter, perhaps we will be able to tell once and for all if this, in fact, really is Harry's handwriting!"

"Brilliant, Hermione!" Ron praised enthusiastically.

"OK," Harry muttered nervously, "I'll give it a try."

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the letter, willing the room to grant his emphatic request to drop any charms in place that would serve to obscure the identity of its founder. His eyes instantly snapped open when, even through his closed lids, he detected a blinding blue light permeate the room. As the illumination from the parchment slowly faded, four sets of eyes stared down at the missive, transfixed, as the writing began to transform. The backwards lean of the letters straightened out and a very familiar upward slope emerged.

"Oh, Harry! I knew it was you!" Ginny cried out, overcome with emotion as she rushed into his arms, embracing him. Harry, so relieved at the confirmation that he was destined to actually survive the war, returned her enthusiasm by pressing his lips to hers and kissing her fervently, abandoning all pretense.

"Oi!" Ron shouted, "What the hell?"

"Ron, shut up, for God's sake! Can't you let them be for once?" Hermione scolded, "You can't honestly tell me that this development surprises you!"

"So I'm supposed to just _ignore_ the fact the my best mate's groping my little sister, Hermione?"

"YES! That's exactly what you're supposed to do!"

His best friends' tempestuous debate continued, but Harry paid no mind to it. He was entirely lost, caught up in the incredible revelation that a real future existed for him, and utterly enamored by intense emotion for the girl currently wrapped tightly in his arms, kissing him with abandon. Harry gradually withdrew from their impassioned kiss, but maintained their embrace, holding her closely, as thankful tears poured freely from his eyes.

"Well, am I to infer based on this eager and rather prominent display of teenage ardor, that someone has finally elected to take my advice?" came Snape's sonorous inquiry, as he strode into the sitting room and approached the four Gryffindors, effectively terminating Ron and Hermione's ongoing dispute.

Harry's head snapped up, catching sight of the triumphant, knowing smirk firmly planted on the Potions Master's face. He promptly turned back to Ginny who was still encased within his arms, placed a small, chaste kiss on her cheek and whispered softly into her ear so that she alone could hear him, "I'll be right back."

With the parchment still gripped tautly in his right hand, Harry removed himself from Ginny's arms and approached the professor, who narrowed his eyes slightly in uncertainty as Harry neared him. Harry released a tremulous breath, liberating a thousand maleficent burdens and fears, and permitted a small smile to grace his lips as he gradually held out the illuminating missive. He spoke not a word as he placed the letter into Snape's outstretched hand.

Snape tore his attention away from his inspection of Harry's odd behavior and looked down at the note he'd been given. Harry recognized the moment of comprehension as Snape's eyes widened after only scanning the writing for a brief time. His eyes shot up to meet Harry's, searching for clarification.

"This… this is _your_ handwriting," He muttered softly, "But… it did not look like this before…"

"I asked the room to strip the letter of any concealment charms," Harry explained, "…and it… it changed."

"You… survive?" He whispered, his voice shaking now, revealing a rare, raw vulnerability. Harry peered up into the man's dark eyes and noticed the inception of grateful tears that were gathering, threatening to fall. His own eyes stung again as he nodded, confirming Snape's tentative conclusion.

The parchment was forsaken, abandoned and left to drift listlessly to the ground, as Snape pulled Harry into his arms and engulfed him fiercely. He lowered his head until it was adjacent to Harry's and choked out a hushed, heartbreaking confession, "Oh God… I thought… I thought I was going to lose you."

Harry pulled back from the embrace and locked eyes with the man who had become such a significant part of his life and responded, honestly and without hesitation, "You won't, Professor. You won't lose me. I'm not going anywhere… not without you by my side."

Snape's tears broke free from their impediment, streaming unencumbered from his ebony gaze. He rested both hands onto Harry's shoulders, leveling him with an earnest, penetrating look, while he replied to Harry's conviction with a heartfelt promise of his own, "Then I assure you, Harry, I will not be leaving your side."

"Thank you, Professor," came Harry's whispered response, voice quavering faintly, revealing a vast depth of emotion, "Thank you, so much… for everything."

Snape embraced him once again, and Harry was shocked by the magnitude of affection issued from the arms encircling him, pulling him close. He had never before felt so cared for, so safe, so unconditionally loved. His heart swelled with regard for this man who had so quickly fallen into the role of surrogate father, bearing little to no resemblance to his previously-feared and extremely forbidding Potions Professor.

They broke apart slowly as a contented silence befell the room. Both Harry and Snape took advantage of the placid repose by wiping away their curative tears. When all traces of Snape's earnest display of emotion were effaced and the room's stillness seemed to fracture with the strain of fervent deliberation, Snape cleared his throat, took a deep, steady breath and rose up to his full, foreboding height, his usual leering smirk solidly in place.

"Well… although I may have been wholly ignorant to your true nature when we first arrived here six days ago, Harry, I was at least correct in discerning one of your imprudent, ill-advised and utterly insane Gryffindor-inspired schemes," Snape reproached, "I accurately deduced that it WAS, in fact, YOU who was responsible for our _little impromptu assembly_."

"Professor Snape, you can't possibly blame Harry for…" Hermione interjected anxiously.

"Hermione, relax!" Harry interrupted while attempting to stifle a laugh, "He's only goading me… you know, teasing me. He's not actually angry."

"Oh… sorry, Professor," She remarked sheepishly, her face turning scarlet in embarrassment, "I guess I'm just not used to… to you being…"

"Decent?" Snape finished for her, one eyebrow raised, seemingly amused by her panicked flustering, "Careful, Miss Granger. We are technically within the walls of Hogwarts, and I would hate for you to start Gryffindor off next term with… _negative points_."

Harry glanced at his three friends who were gawking nervously at the professor, mouths open and eyes wide, obviously alarmed at the very idea of losing house points this early. He turned his gaze back toward Snape. Once their eyes met, Snape's jeering smirk transformed into a genuine, mirthful grin, and Harry burst out into a fit of uncontrolled laughter at the hilarity of the entire situation. Harry wasn't certain how, but at some point over the course of their stay in the Room of Requirement, he had become privy to and conspiratorially included in his professor's dry and rather twisted sense of humor, and Harry was now wholeheartedly amused by the irony of it.

Harry struggled to maintain his composure as he peered up and observed Hermione's disapproving glare, Ginny's apprehensive mien and Ron's blatant look of complete confusion, and he choked out yet another explanation amid his abating chortles, "Guys... he's... he's kidding! He's still just messing with us! He can't really take house points over the summer!"

"That is quite correct, Harry. Severus has always been quite fond of the dispersion of odious humor in an attempt to retain his rather austere reputation," Professor Dumbledore commented as he swept into the sitting room, midnight blue robes billowing dramatically behind him, "However, the truth of the matter is... hmmm, now what is that well-known muggle saying? Ah, yes, now I remember... _his bark is much worse than his bite_."

"Albus, would you be so kind as to refrain from disparaging what little repute I have remaining with these three insolent Gryffindors. I loathe the very notion of any one of them becoming even remotely attached to me. It would displease me greatly if I were to have yet another impulsive, foolhardy brat to supervise." Snape admonished, but the corner of his lips curled up slightly as he uttered the word _brat _and Harry was almost certain the professor had winked at him.

"Perhaps, Albus, in lieu of diminishing my well-earned status as every student's most-feared Hogwarts Professor, you would be more interested in learning the identity of our benefactor," Snape voiced, returning the focus to the newest surprising turn of events, "I found the news to be… quite a relief." Snape pulled out his wand and summoned the parchment which still lay rejected and forgotten on the floor. He grasped hold of the letter as it zoomed into his outstretched hand and turned toward the Headmaster, an uncharacteristic grin adorning the Potions Master's face as he proffered the note to the aged wizard.

Dumbledore scanned the parchment quickly, then immediately looked up, beseeching answers from Snape who was still displaying a rare smile, "Severus... the handwriting… it's changed… and the magical signature is..." His eyes widened prodigiously as he turned his gaze to peer at Harry who was fervently beaming at him.

Harry wasn't sure what he had imagined Dumbledore's reaction would be upon hearing the news of his impending survival, but he had assuredly not expected the elderly wizard's visage to instantly pale and the man to become so faint that Snape had to help him to the settee. It was only after Snape conjured a glass of water, from which the Headmaster gratefully drank, did the color begin to return to Dumbledore's pallid skin and his rapid, fitful breathing start to even out.

"Harry, my dear boy... I... I never imagined that I would live long enough to learn your fate. I guessed... surmised... hoped that the end would conclude in your survival, but I... I did not know with absolute certainty. I am so... relieved... so grateful..." Dumbledore's voice broke, and his body seemed to shudder as tears welled up in his eyes, "Harry, I'm so sorry. I have put you through so much..."

"No, please Professor. Please... don't do this. Don't blame yourself," Harry interrupted insistently, "I'll admit that I would have appreciated a bit more disclosure from you in the past, but none of that matters now. Headmaster, someone once told me that... that all of this... ALL of it... is Voldemort's fault. He is to blame. Not you... not me... none of us are responsible for the loss and the pain and the devastation left in his wake. The fault lies with him and him alone. You did nothing but try to protect me and keep me safe my whole life. You are the reason I am destined to survive this war. And I will always be grateful to you."

As Harry concluded his sincere discourse, Dumbledore's tears fell freely from his twinkling blue eyes and a small, contented smile emerged on his tired and worn face, "Thank you, Harry. Thank you for reminding an old man of what is truly important... and of that which remains our greatest advantage in this war. I should never have allowed myself to doubt that love would see you through this crusade. The depth of your enduring compassion will unquestionably be Voldemort's undoing."

"Albus, I think it would be beneficial for you to retire to our room for a while," Snape suggested, "I believe, perhaps, the shock of this latest revelation has proven to be a bit too overwhelming for you."

Without hesitation, Snape assisted a weak and frail-looking Dumbledore in getting to his feet. The Headmaster leaned on Snape slightly as they both made there way across the room toward the far bedroom. Halfway to their destination, however, Dumbledore's progression halted. Harry was surprised to see him abruptly brandish his wand, point it at the bookshelf beside the hearth and recite the words to a very familiar charm.

_"Accio wandlore books!"_

Snape's eyes attenuated minutely upon hearing the Headmaster's impromptu incantation, and his dark gaze darted from one summoned book to another, as no fewer than five books obediently complied with Dumbledore's will, hurtling through the air and coming to rest gracefully in the awaiting arms of the Headmaster.

"Albus... What in God's name..?"

"Just a bit of light reading, Severus. No need to look so tense, my dear boy," came the older wizard's amicable reply, a benevolent, knowing smile radiating from his weary, lined countenance.

- o - o - o - o - o -

The remainder of the day was, without question, the best time Harry had experienced while sequestered in the Room of Requirement. Ginny never once left his side; she was apparently as thrilled as Harry was at the new development in their relationship. Hermione was positively beaming with happiness in reaction to their newfound closeness. And even Ron's grumbling seemed to lessen after a few hours. Most likely, however, it was only due to Hermione's caustic looks in Ron's direction that precipitated his reversal of outward dissent.

Snape stayed in his room with the Headmaster for the entirety of the day, only emerging on one occasion to announce that they should all find dinner on their own and that he and the Headmaster were not to be disturbed. Harry had initially become quite unnerved by this pronouncement, imagining some new secret with dire effects, but Snape, divining his growing apprehension, merely winked at Harry and assured him that all was well. A week ago a promise like that from his dour Potions Master would do little to assuage his fears. Now, however, it was all that was needed to cause his mounting distress to diminish.

By ten o'clock that evening, all four young Gryffindors, physically exhausted and emotionally sated, elected to put an end to a very draining day. While Ron headed for the washroom to shower before retiring for the night, Harry did not hesitate to climb into his scarcely slept-in bed, sink appreciatively into the soft mattress and disappear underneath the warmth of his wool bedspread, eager to submit to sleep's enticing lure. He had only just reached for his wand to cast his habitual nighttime silencing charm on himself when a firm knock echoed throughout the bedroom.

"Come in… I'm still up." Harry called out, expecting to see Ginny seeking a goodnight kiss, or perhaps Hermione in search of Ron. Consequently, he was somewhat surprised when Snape strode in through the open door and proceeded to seat himself on the edge of Harry's bed. He was clutching an large tome to his chest and looking at Harry with a penitent expression, inspiring an uneasy feeling in the pit of Harry's stomach. Snape's gaze soon shifted and settled upon Harry's wand which was still firmly gripped in his right hand.

"You will not require the use of a silencing charm tonight, Harry. And, before you inquire… no, I am not here to administer Dreamless Sleep Potion to you. I daresay you've imbibed quite enough of that particular draught this week. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Uh… yes, Professor, I suppose you're right. But… if I don't erect a silencing charm and I have a nightmare… well, I don't really want to wake up Ron…"

"Ah, yes, well, fortunately for you, I have taken the liberty of devising a plan to counteract your nocturnal quandaries. And I believe I have succeeded in finding a long-term solution, which will undoubtedly take time to fully implement, as well as a temporary fix for the interim," Snape explained, his voice sounding eerily similar to his typical classroom injunctive tone. He must have discerned his descent into lecturing mode, for a moment later, he sighed deeply, ran his fingers through his ebony hair, and began to speak once more, his tone softer, gentler.

"Harry… I… I wish for us to resume your Occlumency lessons."

"Ugghh… but Professor… you know I'm horrible at Occlumency! Last time, I could only…"

"This will not be like last time, Harry," Snape interjected swiftly, raising a hand to effectively silence his anxious opposition, "Firstly, I will be attempting to instruct you using a vastly different method. Instead of separating your feelings from their corresponding memories as was our approach last term, we will _use_ your emotions, _mold_ them into a what amounts to a shield, essentially encasing and concealing your memories within the depths of your empathy. I think we can both agree that the Dark Lord is infinitely unfamiliar with the complex feelings of love and compassion. And based on his rapid departure from your consciousness on the two occasions this week where you were able to drive him out simply by focusing on your love for the people you care about, I would say that if we are successful with this new approach, the Dark Lord will be too inept to decipher the memories hidden among the surrounding emotions which he finds so repulsive."

"And secondly," Snape continued, his dark eyes fixed resolutely on Harry's emerald ones imploringly, as if silently requesting exoneration, "this time, you will not have the unfortunate disadvantage of working with an instructor who remains woefully ignorant to your potential, your strength and your boundless capacity to love."

He stopped his directive, seemingly searching for his next words, struggling to intimate his intention, "Harry… I deeply regret my behavior towards you last year. I realize there is no excuse for my obstinacy… my harshness… my cruelty… but I give you my word, this will not be a recurrence of last year. We will fight this hold he has on you, and we will fight it together. I believe this new technique will be effective, but if it is not, I swear to you, we will find another way."

"I… I... I didn't practice," Harry whispered guiltily, "It wasn't your fault, Professor! It was mine! I never practiced… I never tried to clear my mind before falling asleep… I was just so angry and frustrated and…"

"I know, Harry," Snape interrupted and again held up his hand, soliciting taciturnity, "I suppose we both share some blame in last year's failure. However, I am willing to try once more if you are."

Harry looked up into Snape's obsidian gaze and was relieved to discover an overwhelming sincerity emanating from eyes he had once believed to be cold and cruel. Now he could only see an openness and a trust within their depths that seemed almost limitless.

"Yes, Professor. I want to try again," Harry answered emphatically, hopeful that this time he would be advantageous in suppressing the monster within and confident that his professor would be there for him no matter what obstacles may lie ahead, "Are we... starting tonight?"

"No. I think that would be a bit too... ambitious... considering all that we have coped with today. However, I would like you to read through a good portion of this book before we begin. I stumbled upon it our second day here and suspected that it may be of some use. Ironically, it was the book I was reading when you emerged from your room after suffering your nightmare, and subsequently the Dark Lord's unwelcome intrusion, early Monday morning. The author seems to know quite a bit about the obscure practice of Occlumency. In fact, I have yet to find a reference book on the subject that surpasses it in detailing the various facets of defensive mind magic. No doubt our hitherto elusive host must have surmised that we would find it illuminating, as there are several chapters within this book that deals specifically with various methods of occluding against... _internal entities_. And it is these chapters that I wish for you to read and become familiar with before we renew our lessons."

"Internal entities? What? There are chapters about shielding your mind from an unwanted fragment of someone else's soul? That seems a bit too... far-fetched... even for the wizarding world!" Harry proclaimed.

"Yes. I must admit that I too was quite perplexed by the coincidental nature of its relevance. Then it occurred to me, after the unexpected disclosure that it was you who wrote the parchment, that perhaps there is more to your writing abilities than mandating a mission to create a better future. Just perhaps... your literary talents stretch beyond a mere missive atop a single leaf of parchment." Snape answered with a delighted smirk in place.

"What? ... you... you think _I wrote this book?" _Harry asked, astonished and completely dumbfounded by Snape's radical implication. Snape didn't respond, though. He simply handed the book to Harry who saw nothing on the front cover except the title, **The Occlumency Paradox**. Harry slowly, tentatively, opened to the inside page and skimmed to the bottom, searching for the author and copyright information...

**The Occlumency Paradox**

**by H.J. Potter**

**Copyright ® 2017**

"I... I can't believe it. I just... cannot believe it! Wait... you said that you'd been reading this book since Monday. How did you not notice...?"

"The second page was completely blank until your request earlier today to void any concealment charms in place to obscure your penmanship. I suppose the Room perceived the inclusion of this book as well." Snape suggested, still smiling in amusement over Harry's reaction.

"Well then, considering that you are in fact the author of this text, you should have no problem studying its content and committing its pertinent information to memory so that we may resume our Occlumency lessons in the near future." Snape instructed, his voice steadily regaining its authoritative, teacher tone, "Tonight, however, since we are unable to employ your future self's occluding prowess, we shall, instead, utilize a rather helpful spell I was fortunate enough to be privy to in my youth. Its Latin incantation is _Vocare Amicus_ and the wand movement is the following... wand out, Mr. Potter."

Harry, who was still distracted over the fact that his future self had actually penned an Occlumency book, startled abruptly upon hearing his surname fall from Snape's lips. His eyes snapped up to meet his professor's, suddenly frightened that his surly Potions Master had made a reappearance. But Snape was merely leering animatedly, entertained at his lack of focus under the gravity of this latest shock.

"Oh, sorry, Professor," Harry apologized and held his wand aloft, ready to mimic Snape's gesticulations. The spell's wand movement was relatively simple and after three attempts, Snape declared him proficient at it.

"Now, let's try the spell for real, shall we? Simply point your wand at me and recite the incantation while applying the correct movement." Snape instructed.

"But... wait. What does the spell actually... do? Is it similar to a silencing charm or..."

"It works exactly as a silencing charm does until you become overtly distressed, at which time the spell will alert me to your plight, allowing me the opportunity to assist you."

"Assist me? Wh-what do you mean... assist me?" Harry asked, honestly bemused by what Snape could possibly do to help him, unless of course he bit through his lip again and required a healing charm.

The Potions Master's eyes suddenly permeated a profound sadness as he answered, "Harry... I only wish to be here for you so that I may be able to comfort you... see you through your trauma. You... shouldn't be have to suffer alone... not anymore."

"Oh..." Harry whispered, voice faltering with gratitude, as he struggled to comprehend that someone actually wanted to comfort him, care for him, hold him until his suffocating panic subsided, "Thank you, Professor" Harry managed to mutter, as his throat seemed to tighten with overwhelming emotion.

"Your mother invented this spell," Snape admitted in a hushed tone, "As you might have guessed, I too was plagued by debilitating nightmares as a boy, most of them featuring my father's wrath. Lily was obsessed with finding a way to help me through my crippling nighttime sufferings. She spent the better part of our first three years at Hogwarts researching basic silencing spells and the monitoring charms that nervous mothers employ to know instantly when their infants are distressed. Midway through our third year, she finally managed to create a hybrid between the two. _Vocare Amicus_ in Latin means _to call a friend_. For the next two years while we were at school, she would insist on having me place the charm on her every evening after our study sessions. I always kept her up to date with the Slytherin Common Room passwords so that if I had a nightmare, she could simply sneak into my dormitory to console me. Most nights, she would just sit beside me and talk to me... about nothing, anything really... the subject matter made no difference. Her presence alone was enough to calm my panic."

"What did you do after you and my mum had your falling out? I mean, you need someone else who is willing to..."

"I used a silencing charm after that," Snape interrupted bluntly, cutting off his inquiry, "And I will not allow you to suffer through these occurrences alone anymore, Harry. Do you understand me? Until we are successful in implementing your new method of Occlumency, you are not to enter into a single night's slumber without performing this spell on me. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Professor. Thank you," Harry choked out faintly, his eyes suddenly brimming with tears. And as he spoke his words of thanks, a lone tear escaped the sea of shimmering jade, spilling forth from its boundary. A solitary metaphoric expression of compassion entangled with a sense of deep, burning regret. Compassion for the man who had so quickly fallen into the role of fierce advocate for Harry's safety, his well-being, his very happiness. And regret... regret that his mother had never lived long enough to see the abiding love so readily given to her only son by the man she had once believed unworthy of her forgiveness.

- o - o - o - o - o -

Harry awoke the next morning feeling surprisingly well-rested and at ease, despite the particularly harrowing nightmare he experienced in the middle of the night. Amazingly, the dream did not feature Voldemort, but rather his Uncle's twisted idea of punishment. He could not remember all of it, but he was fairly certain that throughout its duration, he had been locked inside his cold, dark cupboard, terrified and desperate to get out. As was customary following one of his night terrors, he had awoken screaming and panicked. But this time, he was not alone. By the time his mind had regained enough cognizance to take in the reality of his surroundings, Harry immediately felt the comfort of strong arms surrounding him, holding him close, and heard a calm voice whispering in his ear that he was safe and unharmed. Only after his tears had abated and his panic lessened, did the professor relinquish his hold on him. Harry did not know how much longer the Potions Master remained by his side, but he vaguely recalled a soothing hand on his back as sleep procured him once more.

After pulling himself from his reminiscence of the previous evening, Harry leapt from his bed and headed for the washroom to shower and brush his teeth. He made quick work of it, returning to his room in no time to change and grab his wand from beside his bed. He was careful not to disturb Ron who was still sound asleep in the next bed, snoring tumultuously. Harry wasn't entirely sure what time it was, but he could tell it was quite early judging by the acute stillness permeating the Room of Requirement. Since it appeared that he was the only one awake, Harry decided to await the company of his friends in the sitting room, occupying his time by reading from his Occlumency book. _His_ Occlumency book! _This week just gets stranger and stranger_, he mused.

He had only gotten about halfway through the first chapter, which focused on the resilience that exists between the bonds connecting traumatic memories and the fears they evoke, when Professor Dumbledore, clad in robes of a blindingly vivid hue of chartreuse, entered the sitting room and took a seat beside Harry. The Headmaster, Harry noted, was carrying with him the books about wandlore that he had summoned from the shelf only yesterday.

"Ah, Harry, I see Severus has informed you of your impressive literary talents," He announced while gesturing his blackened hand toward Harry's book.

"Yes, sir. It was a bit of a shock to find out that I actually become... well, good... at Occlumency," Harry replied honestly.

"More than good, young man. To hear Severus praise the contents of this book, one could only conclude that its author is nothing short of expertly accomplished at said skill," Dumbledore commended lavishly.

"Thank you, sir. But it feels very bizarre accepting a compliment for something I have yet to do," Harry admitted.

Dumbledore simply chuckled genially, then cleared his throat, cutting short his amusement and effectively altering the mood which swiftly took on a more somber resonance.

"Harry, I had hoped to have a moment alone with you this morning. There are a few things of which I need to inform you," He admitted solemnly. Upon inferring the Headmaster's serious tone and his allusion to what could only mean yet another pensive discussion, Harry became unnerved. He had believed, especially since their time in the Room of Requirement was drawing to a close, that all necessary truth-telling was behind them. But as Harry peered into the deep, cerulean gaze of Albus Dumbledore, once again bereft of its usual twinkle, he realized it was foolish to believe that he might ever be free from deception's acrimonious shade.

"Alright. What is it you wish to discuss, Headmaster?" Harry inquired nervously.

"Wandlore, Harry. The art of wand creation, as well as the interpretation and appreciation of the subtle complexities that constitutes the study of wands. Many witches and wizards remain shockingly uneducated about what embodies the essence of this fascinating branch of magic. I, myself, although I find it difficult to admit, must count myself among their numbers. For only days ago, I was resolutely determined to carry out a plan which contained a monumental error in judgment."

"What plan, sir?" Harry asked, his apprehension increasing slightly.

"My impending death, Harry. You are aware, of course, that Severus and I must arrange a scenario in which he will carry out my final request of him. And I am certain you have already surmised that the means by which the deed must take place needs to leave no doubt in Lord Voldemort's mind that Severus is loyal to him alone. This is essential, Harry."

"Yes, Headmaster, I do understand that. But what does all this have to do with wandlore and an error in your plan?"

"My plan involved Severus casting the killing curse upon me, and with any luck, it would be performed in the presence of Voldemort's Death Eaters, or perhaps even Voldemort himself, to ensure its look of authenticity. In order for my plan to be successful, two goals would have to be met, Harry. One... I had hoped to solidify Severus' place among Voldemort's most high-level followers, securing his role as spy for the Light as long as possible. And, two... to establish an exchange of ownership, if you will, of a very sought-after, very powerful magical artifact, an object that, I believe, at this very moment, is being quietly pursued by Voldemort himself."

At Harry's furrowed brow and bewildered expression, Dumbledore held up his injured hand and waved his wand back and forth minutely, indicating that the thin stick of wood between his long, blackened fingers was the object to which he had been referring.

"Your wand? Your wand is a powerful magical artifact?" Harry asked, now completely flummoxed.

"This wand, Harry... was constructed centuries ago by one of three exceedingly talented wizards, brothers, as alike in brilliance as they were in blood. This wand has been passed down throughout wizarding history, violently, for as the tales will tell, its exchange from one wizard to another most often results in the death of its previous owner. Its bloody narrative speaks volumes about why it is sought after. For this wand is infamous for being unbeatable. It had been referred to throughout history as the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny or... the Elder Wand."

"An unbeatable wand?" Harry repeated, eyes widening considerably as he stared, trancelike it the slim, almost insignificant-looking wand in Dumbledore's hand, "Voldemort is after it? And... and you have it?"

"Yes, my dear boy, though, as I'm sure you can understand, I do not make a habit of divulging that particular bit of information. Voldemort, himself, currently has no clue that I am in possession of that which he is so desperately pursuing. However, in order to safeguard that Voldemort could not possibly possess the wand following my inevitable demise, I had planned on its ownership to be transferred to Severus, which I _incorrectly_ assumed would occur once he casted the killing curse on me. After all, that is the means by which the wand has most typically changed hands. _Avada Kedavra_ has always been the quick and easy spell of choice for ridding the wand of its previous master."

"But... I don't understand. If _Avada Kedavra_ usually brings about the successful transfer of the Elder Wand, then why wouldn't it work in our case? Why wouldn't Professor Snape become the wand's new master?" Harry questioned.

"Because, Harry, intent is extremely important when it comes to wands and their owners. Severus' intent in killing me will be to honor my request to die by my own terms... not to end my life for his own personal gain. And for that reason, my plan is quite flawed, for the wand will not answer to him after I have died."

"Then... who will be the true master of the Elder Wand? Does that mean that Voldemort can still gain control of it, sir?"

"If my plan is put into effect, the Elder Wand's power will die along with me. And, no, even if Voldemort were to pry this wand from my lifeless body, the wand would grant him no more allegiance than any other wand."

"Well, that's good, isn't it? I mean, if its magic ends when you die, then your plan isn't so flawed after all." Harry remarked thoughtfully.

"Yes. You are quite correct."

"But you made it seem as though you weren't going to go through with your plan because of the flaw. You said that it would be a monumental mistake..."

No, Harry. I told you that my plan contained a monumental error in judgment, not that the error would stop me from implementing that plan. In fact, as we have just discussed, that error works to our advantage. I believe that... should the plan work correctly and I die as the Elder Wand's final owner... then you will not have to fear the possibility of Voldemort possessing the Elder Wand."

"Then... why are you telling me all this?"

"Because, my dear boy, if the plan were to somehow go awry, you must know what you could be up against. I have spoken at great length with Severus about this, and he agrees that even though we are leaving this room today, we should maintain our current resolve to disclose the truth. I owe you at least that much, Harry."

"Thank you sir. Thank you for explaining all of this to me."

"You're welcome, Harry. And although there is more I wish to discuss with you on this subject, I believe we can leave that conversation for another day."

With that, the Headmaster ascended from the settee, the wandlore books tucked under his arm, and headed for the shelf. As Harry watched the aged wizard return the books to their rightful place, a glint of gold caught his eye, sparking a memory of a trembling, desperate old man whose pain radiated from deeply, saddened eyes.

"Professor... the ring... you told us that you only put it on because you wished to see Ariana again. May I ask... who is Ariana?"

Harry regretted his question almost immediately. For as Dumbledore gradually turned away from the shelf and faced him, Harry was dismayed to see the older man's face fall into utter despair and grief. It was as if his spirit had suddenly abandoned his body, leaving only a hollow shell of his former essence. He looked the very epitome of misery. His blue eyes, usually animate with a contagious sentience, now seemed vacant and wholly lifeless.

"Professor… I'm sorry… I should not have pried. I apologize…"

"No need to apologize, Harry. I daresay I have kept enough secrets from you," Dumbledore responded steadfastly, yet his voice possessed a faint tremor as he continued, "She was my sister. She passed away while in my charge many years ago, when I was a very young and foolish man. Her death was a direct consequence of my own thoughtless actions and blatant negligence. And I have never forgiven myself for causing her demise. I foolishly placed this ring upon my finger in a desperate attempt to see her again, so that I could have the opportunity to tell her… how much I loved her…. and how very sorry I am for forsaking her."

The Headmaster paused here and lowered his head. Harry could just make out the glister of fresh tears streaming down his lined and worn face. Harry maintained the strained silence that ensued, too concerned that any further questions would distress the man to an even greater extent. After a long moment of palpable tension, he began to speak again.

"The stone embedded within ring, you see, has the ability to call upon the dead, summon them from beyond the veil. It is, however… not an advisable solution to alleviating own's regret, and I am grateful that the curse placed upon the ring prevented me from implementing the stone's magic. Only under the threat of mortal peril should the dead ever be compelled to leave their place of rest to assist the living. So shocked upon realizing what it was that I had in front of me and blinded by my overwhelming grief over Ariana's death, I failed to remember this pertinent fact. And as a result, my fate has been sealed, a long-overdue penance for the mistakes of my youth. Yet… I cannot say that I am troubled by my destiny, Harry. After all, my death will enable me that which I have sought for so long… to see Ariana again."

With the Headmaster's final words, a genuine smile of contentment appeared on his previously sorrowful mien. And he breathed deeply as if to assuage any lingering doubt. He returned his attention to the bookshelf and when he had finished replacing the wandlore books, he reached for a thin and very frayed book on the very end of the shelf.

"Ah, yes. I thought I might discover a copy of this here," Dumbledore announced heartily, the twinkle in his eyes miraculously returned as he placed the book atop Harry's Occlumency book in his lap, "When you have a moment, Harry, I encourage you to read one of the fables in this book. It is entitled _The Tale of the Three Brothers_ and I believe you will find it most… illuminating."

"Yes…. that would be an understatement, Albus," Snape commented as he swept into the room, "I am quite certain Death's third gift, at the very least, will spark his interest," He added, smirking astutely.

"Good morning, Professor. The Headmaster and I were just…. I mean, we were… uh… talking about…." Harry stammered nervously, not sure how much he would be permitted to disclose to Snape. After all, some of what they had just discussed had been highly personal.

"Relax, Harry. I am fully aware of what subject matter the Headmaster had planned to discuss with you this morning. He and I are… quite through… with keeping secrets from each other."

"Oh…" Harry replied, "OK. That makes sense."

"And if you are finished with your time with the Headmaster, I was hoping you could join me in the kitchen, Harry. I may require your assistance preparing breakfast."

"Sure, Professor."

Harry followed the Potions Master into the small kitchen, his brain still spinning, distracted by details about unbeatable wands and stones that could bring back the dead. When Harry entered the kitchen, Snape was already rummaging through the refrigerator searching for what would soon become breakfast. He pulled out a huge slab of bacon, two ripe tomatoes and a large loaf of artisanal bread.

"Well, I believe bacon sandwiches will make an acceptable start to the day." He announced, "Now then, Harry, would you prefer to cook the bacon or to slice the bread and tomatoes?"

"Um… well, considering that I'm horrible at chopping and slicing… I guess I'd rather cook the bacon," Harry answered.

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly at Harry's admission and, for a moment, he thought he was about to be lectured about his prepping abilities. But Snape simply nodded his head in response, pulled out a knife from the block on the counter and began slicing the bread.

They both worked in tense silence for several minutes, until Snape finally saw fit to end their oppressive quietude.

"You're wrong," Snape muttered, his attention never diverting from his task, "You are not horrible at chopping and slicing. You're not exactly skilled at it either, mind you. But you are certainly not nearly as abysmal at potion-making as I have previously implied in class."

Harry instantly froze where he stood. After taking a moment to absorb what he had just heard, he whirled around, staring open-mouthed at his professor, who was still resolutely not looking at him but busily slicing the tomatoes. He could not believe that he had just heard Snape compliment his potion skills. Well, maybe it wasn't quite a compliment, but it was definitely not an insult.

"What? But you've always told me…"

Snape finally ceased his slicing and glanced at Harry's flustered features. He sighed heavily, then approached him, placing his hands on his shoulders and looking fixedly into his eyes, "Harry… I was acting…. playing a vital role. You must understand that as the Dark Lord's spy, I must never be seen publicly praising his enemy. I must always favor the Slytherins and admonish the Gryffindors…. especially you…. despite your performance in my class. However, I am ashamed to admit that I found that role rather easy in the past, as we both know that you were not exactly my favorite student. And I deeply regret having taken the facade as far as I did."

"I think maybe I knew that some of it had to be an act. I mean, you kept failing me during lessons, but… well, you never failed my tests or my homework."

"You do well when you apply yourself, Harry, even in Potions. And this year, I believe you will fare even better, especially if Albus is successful in convincing Horace Slughorn to take the job as Potions Master. He will, no doubt, take an immediate liking to you. He was absolutely enamored with your mother."

Without warning, Harry felt as though his stomach dropped as an acute dread gripped him. How had he not yet considered what it would be like once classes began again next term? The very idea of Snape treating him like shit again, whether it was an act or not, suddenly terrified him. He did not want to lose this new relationship, this trust, this closeness that had developed between them over the last few days. The thought of going back to the way things used to be sickened him even more than the idea of providing sanctuary to a fragment of Voldemort's soul.

Snape must have divined Harry's escalating trepidation, for the next moment he placed his hand on Harry's chin, just as he had done on their very first day in the Room of Requirement when Snape was assessing Harry's injuries, and gripped firmly, coaxing Harry to meet his gaze.

"Harry, I promise you… it will NEVER be as it was before. Yes, I will have to continue to play my part in this war, but it will only be an act this time. Do you understand? Nothing will change how much I…. how important you've become to me. I told you yesterday, Harry… I will not leave your side…. and I meant it. We will work out the details later, but I plan on being there for you in any way that you may need me. Even if it must to be kept secret."

Harry felt his panic ebb as he saw the sincerity and truthfulness within Snape's dark eyes, and he found himself nodding in response to his professor's earnest speech.

"Good. Now go tend to the bacon before you burn the kitchen down."

"Oh shit!" Harry bellowed while racing over to the frying pan in an attempt to rescue the now rapidly blackening bacon.

- o - o - o - o - o -

Harry managed to get to the bacon just in time to extricate the too-crisp pieces from the smoking pan. Snape chuckled to himself in amusement as Harry proclaimed the bacon a little on the crunchy side, but edible. Harry made quick work of assembling the sandwiches and placed them on a tray while Snape made a pot of tea and gathered six cups.

When they made their way back out into the sitting room, Dumbledore, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were already there waiting for them. Ginny's face lit up into a huge grin when she saw him enter, causing Harry to become embarrassed when he felt his cheeks heat up under her penetrating gaze. He lowered his head slightly in a vain attempt to conceal his growing flush and eagerly took his seat next the red-head.

The next hour was spent in a relatively calm atmosphere as they all ate their breakfast huddled around the small coffee table and engaged in idle conversation. No one mentioned aloud what they were all most certainly wondering... when exactly would they be leaving the room and what, if any, answers would be bestowed upon them before their departure.

They didn't have long to wait for the information they were all hoping to attain, for as soon as the last sandwich had been consumed and the last drop of tea was drunk, the room was infused with a brilliant, blue luminescence. When the blaze of light subsided, all eyes were trained on the parchment as it lay innocuously motionless atop the small table. Just as it had been on their first few moments in the room, it was Dumbledore who extended his hand and grasped the note. After clearing his throat once and allowing an infinitesimal smile escape his lips while he skimmed the missive, he began to read the new words written across the page.

_Friday, July 19th, 1996_

_To Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Ginevra Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, Hermione Granger and Severus Snape,_

_As all six of you have already determined, thanks to the unwavering persistence of the very beautiful Ginny Weasley, I am Harry James Potter. And I currently reside in the year 2019. It was my sincerest wish that if I assembled you all here, you would be able to save the lives of many people who did not survive the war, friends and family alike. My only request of you was that you reveal your secrets, and find some common ground and understanding with one another, so that you could trust each other enough to build a better future._

_I am profoundly grateful and extremely overwhelmed by your accomplishments this week, for you have indeed changed your future... as well as altered my past... for the better. I alone recall what once was to be our fate, but has now been adjusted. I daresay it will take time for me to get used to my new future, as well as the two sets of memories corresponding to both parallel timelines. I have already found it exceedingly difficult to call my middle child by his correct name, Severus Albus Potter, for before the timeline was altered his name was Albus Severus Potter. But if that is my biggest hardship born from this scheme, I think I will persevere!_

At this, all eyes flew to study Snape's reaction. The ebony eyes were hidden in shadow as Snape had lowered his head, allowing his long black hair to conceal his face, but Harry was positive he had succumbed to joyful tears at the very idea of Harry naming his son after him. Harry reached out to Snape, placing his hand tentatively on his shoulder. That was all it took to impel the normally reserved Potions Master into acting on his acute emotions. He wrapped his arms around Harry firmly, pulling him into a loving embrace, "Thank you, Harry... thank you," was all Harry could decipher from the man as the intensity of the moment began to move him to tears. After their brief emotional reprieve, Dumbledore resumed his recitation.

_I am certain that you all wish to know whose lives you have saved, and I am happy to oblige. The listing below is not a complete directory, for that would take several more rolls of parchment, but it consists of those few that were close to you... those friends and family members that would have perished had you not been successful in this endeavor..._

_Alastor Moody_

_Nymphadora Tonks_

_Ted Tonks_

_Dobby_

_Hedwig_

_Colin Creevey_

_Fred Weasley_

_Remus Lupin_

_Severus Snape_

Harry felt his pulse race when he heard the final three names, "Oh God!" He whispered faintly. His head snapped up and his eyes immediately sought out Ginny. She and Ron were holding each other tightly. Ginny's back was towards him, but Harry could tell that she was quietly weeping by the gentle tremble of her shoulders and the intermittent gasps for breath that could be heard through the petite hands obscuring her face. Crying for the tragedy that might have been, Harry thought, and he completely understood as he thought about Moody, Tonks, Remus... and... Snape. His viridescent eyes, shimmering with new, grateful tears, swiftly found their way to the cavernous, dark eyes of Severus Snape, and the two stared at one another as if they had never quite seen each other so clearly before.

"You saved me," came the low, tremulous voice of the Potions Master. His eyes alight with intense, raw emotion and his pale cheeks damp with inexorable tears.

Harry's gaze never once wavered from the man he now considered as good as a father, genetics be damned, and he replied in the only way that seemed fitting, "You saved me first."

Dumbledore broke through the torrent of emotions permeating the room by, once again, reading from the parchment.

_Thank you all for your incredible bravery and tireless resolve in the face of adversity. Your journey, unlike mine, is not yet complete. You've still much to learn and many more problems to overcome before Voldemort is destroyed. But now, you have each other. Continue the work you began in this room. Trust each other. Love each other. Fight the monster together. For in BOTH of my parallel realities, I have learned that alone we are fragile, but together... we are adamantine._

_Goodbye for now,_

_H.J. Potter_

_husband to Ginny Potter_

_father to James, Severus and Lily Potter_

_best friend to Ron and Hermione Weasley_

_surrogate son to Severus Snape_

_I love you all._

The room was inundated with several squeals of delight and a plethora of astonished gasps as Dumbledore read the parting narrative of H.J Potter. But all commentary abruptly ceased as a blinding white light engulfed the room. Within seconds, the light disappeared, and with it Severus Snape.

"What the fuck?" Ron exclaimed.

"Mr. Weasley, I believe the Room of Requirement no longer has use of us. It appears that our time here is up, and the magic is systematically returning us to the location from which it removed us seven days ago. And if I am not mistaken, it seems to be ridding itself of our presence in..."

The white light returned, illuminating the entirety of the sitting room once more and interrupting Dumbledore's explanation. When the radiance finally ebbed and their eyes adjusted to the sudden dimming in its absence, it was clear that they were one person short yet again. Hermione had vanished from her spot on the settee beside Ron and Ginny.

"...reverse order," Dumbledore finished, albeit unnecessarily, "Yes, well, it's always nice to have one's theories validated, I suppose."

Twice more the white light interposed its presence into the room, whose attendance continued to dwindle. Dumbledore was the next to go, quickly followed by Ginny and Ron only a moment later, leaving Harry alone.

Harry only had a moment's respite before the familiar flash of light returned and with it a strong surge of magic, pulling him, spinning him. Harry shut his eyes tightly to alleviate his dizziness as he felt the energy slowly recede. When he opened his eyes once more, he found himself deposited awkwardly on the thin, lumpy mattress of his bed, his threadbare blanket still draped haphazardly across the sheets. Harry looked down at the flimsy pillow positioned at the head of his bed and, for a moment, was almost shocked to see a deep scarlet stain on the front of it until he remembered his bleeding cut from a week ago. And as Harry looked around the small room and took in his meager surroundings, it was with a heavy, despondent heart that he reluctantly accepted the sad truth…

"Well, I guess I'm home."

**Don't worry - it's not quite over yet. Check out the epilogue...**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen - Epilogue**

Harry leaned his head back onto his blood-stained pillow and closed his eyes in a vague attempt to renounce his return to the Dursleys. That wasn't to say that last week hadn't been rough, it definitely included some horrible moments, but he would gladly go though it all over again if it meant being away from his own private hell on Privet Drive. What he wouldn't give to be curled up with Ginny on the settee by the hearth... or playing chess with Ron... or burning breakfast with Snape?

Well, Harry thought, it was worth it. All of it. It didn't really matter what new, creative torments his Aunt and Uncle had in store for him for the remainder of the summer. Because he now knew what future awaited him. He knew that Voldemort was destined to lose, one way or another. He knew that someday, he would be a husband and a father. He knew there existed a future worth fighting for, and it was worth suffering through any amount of discomfort in the meantime.

But his present wasn't too bad either, he mused, as a small simper emerged on his face. He knew he was loved. His friends would always be there for him. Snape would always be by his side. He had promised Harry that he would be there for him no matter what may lie ahead. His smile grew as he remembered the final written words on future Harry's letter to them all...

_husband to Ginny Potter_

_father to James, Severus and Lily Potter_

_best friend to Ron and Hermione Weasley_

_surrogate son to Severus Snape_

Harry's heart swelled with overwhelming affection and devotion for the people so dear to him, loved ones who would remain resolutely by his side as the future steadily unveiled its divine truth. And even though he was certain the future would still usher in pain, fear and hardship, Harry was convinced that, armed with the steadfast love of his friends, he could deal with any obstacle.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here? Get out! Your kind is NOT WELCOME IN MY HOME!"

Upon hearing his Uncle's furious shouts, Harry leapt hastily from his bed and hurried to his door, perceiving only one way his Uncle could get that irate so quickly. There must be another wizard in the house. He seized hold of the knob and twisted violently, desperate to see who had come to call. He groaned in frustration when he realized that his Uncle must have locked him in at some point overnight. He rested his forehead on the cool wood frame and breathed deeply, trying to think what to do next. Harry turned his head slightly so that he could better overhear what was being discussed downstairs. If he angled his head minutely so that his ear rested adjacent to the gap between the door and the frame, he could just make out another voice.

"Dursley, you imbecilic, foolish, vile shit! You WILL be letting me into your loathsome home, and I WILL most assuredly be taking Harry away from this miserable existence! And I swear to God, Dursley, if I find that he has been locked up anywhere in this house, THERE WILL BE HELL TO PAY!"

Harry's heart was nearly beating out of his chest. He knew that voice. He knew it almost better than his own. Snape was here... in Privet Drive... and he had come to take Harry away from the Dursleys.

Heavy, quickening footfalls could be heard briskly approaching. Harry swiftly backed away from the door, worried that he might be injured if the door suddenly slammed open.

"OPEN THE DAMN DOOR, DURSLEY!" Snape thundered in his most intimidating timbre.

Harry heard the nervous jingling of keys and the rapid panting of a man who was obviously fearing for his life.

The door quickly swung open, and in strode the shadowy, menacing figure of Severus Snape, looking utterly livid. His expression of rage dissipated instantly upon seeing Harry standing in the middle of the room. And he immediately drew closer to Harry to inspect his appearance for any possible injuries.

"Are you alright?" Snape asked in a hushed and slightly shaky voice.

"Yes, Professor, I'm OK. But... what are you doing here?"

Snape's eyes seemed to widen in disbelief before he answered, "Harry... you didn't honestly think that I would leave you here for even one moment longer than necessary, did you?"

"I... I... I don't know... I mean, Professor Dumbledore always said I had to spend at least a few weeks here to maintain the blood wards, so I just thought..."

"To hell with the blood wards, Harry. You're not spending another damn minute in this place. Come on... let's get you things."

Without having to be told twice, Harry hurtled over to the loose floorboard beside his bed and wrenched it open. He pulled out his photo album and his invisibility cloak from where they had been hidden. Then he grabbed Hedwig's cage from atop the table beside his bed.

"Um... the rest of it, my trunk and all my school things, is... well, locked up. In the cupboard under the stairs," Harry admitted, suddenly feeling embarrassed by his plight.

Snape pursed his lips tightly together as if fighting some instinct to lash out violently. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, pacifying his obvious pique.

"Come on, Harry. We'll get it on our way out."

The two hastened their way down the steps, both equally anxious to be rid of their time there. Soon, Harry was standing in front of the tiny cupboard door feeling anxious at the thought of Snape seeing the place where he had been locked up for the majority of his childhood.

Snape stayed close beside him and leaned down to whisper in his ear, "You will never again have to endure their cruelty. Do you hear me, Harry? In just a moment, you will be free from them. I promise you."

Harry felt a single tear rove wearily down his cheek and was almost startled to hear his own voice issue the command, "Open it, Uncle Vernon!"

Keys once again clanked noisily against one another as his Uncle struggled to obey.

The moment the small door swung open, Snape grabbed his trunk with one hand and, with his other hand firmly gripping Harry's shoulder, swiftly guided Harry out the front door of number four Privet Drive.

Harry wasn't certain how far they had walked and he was only slightly aware of the tears streaming copiously down his cheeks, but after a few moments Snape halted his progression and his hand, still clutching Harry's shoulder, squeezed lightly, persuading him to stop as well. Harry obliged and turned to face Snape who looked to be quite as affected as he was by the encounter with the Dursleys.

"Harry, I didn't have the time to discuss this with you in the Room of Requirement before we were quite unceremoniously dismissed, and I sure as hell wasn't about to stop and have a chat in that horrid house, but I suppose I ought to ask you... I... I was hoping you would like to stay at Hogwarts for the rest of the summer... with me. I can set you up with your own room in my quarters. Dumbledore has given his consent, of course. It won't be much, and unfortunately, I cannot be there all the time. I must periodically spend days and sometimes evenings at my home in Spinner's End. But I'll be at Hogwarts at least four days out of every week and..."

Snape's detailed, informative speech continued, but Harry could only focus on a portion of it...

_I was hoping you would like to stay at Hogwarts for the rest of the summer... with me._

"You... you would want me to... live with you?" Harry choked out, feeling his eyes sting again with impending tears.

"Harry... of course I would want you to live with me," He placed his hands on Harry's shoulders, peered deeply into Harry's watery gaze and, recognizing the lingering fear of rejection radiating from his brilliant green eyes, spoke the words he knew Harry needed to hear.

"Harry, you're my surrogate son, remember? I will ALWAYS want you to be part of my life... and I will always love you."

Harry launched himself into the professor's arms, weeping with abandon, "I love you, too," he whispered amid gasping breaths and fitful sobs.

The two maintained the embrace for a long moment, until finally the Potions Master pulled away.

"Ready, Harry?"

Harry took a long, slow, tempering breath, and wiped away his remaining tears with the heels of his hands, allowing only a brief glance at the thin, white paradox carved into the skin on the back of his left hand, and looked up into Snape's dark, cavernous gaze.

"Yes, Professor, I'm ready... for a better future."

- FIN -

**I sincerely hope you all have enjoyed this story. If you did, PLEASE review. I would really love to hear your thoughts. And I would also like to know if you think I should write a sequel. I do believe this story does not NEED one... however, I could definitely make it work. So, please, let me know your thoughts.**

**Special thanks to all of you took the time to review my story… especially YenGirl, Schattengestalt and LittleForest for your kind words and constant encouragement. I appreciate your support!**

**And, please, stay tuned for my next story which I will be starting very soon. :)**


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